Snow White Queen
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: UPDATED JANUARY 24TH! As the Black Organization crumbles, a twisted relationship begins to develop into a forbidden love, endangering not only the two involved, but everyone around them. GinSherry, ShinichiRan.
1. Prologue

**Detective Conan**

**Snow White Queen**

**By LuckyLadybug**

**Notes: The characters are not mine, and the story is! The title is from the song of the same name on Evanescence's album _The Open Door._ Originally this story was supposed to come after _No Way Out_ was done, but right now I am somewhat stuck on that story, and I think part of the reason is because I want so badly to get this one out! So, while this story takes place after _No Way Out_, it can stand alone, as well. This is a project very dear to me, and I plan that it will be my other big work besides _Breakdown_. I hope that even if you do not like the pairings I feature here, you will at least be willing to give them a try! This will detail the events that are remembered in _Good Enough For You_, and I hope it will be a good and satisfying explanation to the skeptics. For me, this story will detail my dream ending to the _Detective Conan_ series.**

**Prologue**

The winter night was biting, the temperature having plunged far below freezing. The roads were slick with snow---both fresh and muddied---sleet, and ice all at once. Houses, mailboxes, and sidewalks, as well as traffic lights and street signs, were covered in thickening blankets of white. The snow, blissfully descending from the deeply gray sky, did not look as though it would cease any time soon.

It was one of the worst storms that had befallen Tokyo in ages. The meterologists were predicting near blizzard conditions for the next several days, and many people were preparing to spend a week or more in the safety of their houses.

Before they could do this, however, they needed to be sure that they would have enough food to last, and so the stores had become quite occupied as items quickly disappeared from the shelves. Then the shoppers would try, with varying success, to return to their homes. Many had to cope with automobile problems, and were stalled in various places on the way back. Still others had not been able to deal with the icy roads, and had slipped and slid until accidents were inevitable. And still others had not been able to start their cars in the first place, and were struggling to walk from their homes to the store and back. Some became very creative with their methods of bringing back the groceries, such as dragging children's wagons behind them, covered by tarps, blankets, or quilts.

One such prospective shopper shivered, pulling her coat closer around her shapely body. She smirked grimly, brushing her auburn hair out of her eyes as the wind blew harder. It was much too cold to tuck the locks behind her ears, though she was certain that even if she tried, it would quickly blow free again. She groped through the coat's pockets, searching for a scarf to tie around her head. After locating a dried-out pen, half a box of breath mints, and a crumpled piece of paper towel---to which she raised an eyebrow---she gave up in irritation. There was not anything she could use, just as she had previously known.

Behind her she was pulling one of the professor's inventions. It looked like an ordinary wagon, but in cold weather a button could be pushed that would activate a protective covering. It also came with a remote control, and supposedly could move on its own---but under the circumstances, she was not willing to trust that it would behave. And so she had opted to determine its moves herself. At least she could trust that it would not go careening into a snowbank that way. She knew that it would not hold that much, but she hoped it would be enough to tide them over until the storm passed. If it was only going to get worse, it was not likely that they would be able to go out again after tonight. So whatever she got would have to suffice.

And she had to get enough food for Kudo, as well. For the last couple of weeks, since returning to his natural form, he had been living back at his old house. He had still not told Ran about his transformations, and she had the feeling that it was no longer solely because he worried about Ran's safety. She would not be surprised if he also worried about his own. Once Ran learned that he had been lying to her for so long, there was no telling how she would react. And she could somewhat pity Kudo's plight, though she also would not blame Ran for getting angry. To be missing the person she so dearly loved, for months on end, and then learning that he had been with her all along, in the form of a child, would not be an easy thing to accept.

Both his alter ego "Conan Edogawa", and her own "Ai Haibara", had been explained to have returned home---or rather, Conan's parents had come for him, and they had invited Ai to go with them. But though that was the official story, she had the feeling that Ayumi Yoshida suspected the truth about at least her. Ayumi was mature for her age, however, and the half-frozen and disgruntled would-be shopper hoped that the child would know to keep her possible suspicions secret. The last thing they needed was for the more inquisitive Genta to learn that Shiho Miyano might, in fact, be the former Ai Haibara. Then who knew what might be concluded about Conan, as well. And if word got back to the Black Organization . . . well, then there would be Hell to pay, no question about it.

She shuddered again, this time not from the cold. She could still not understand why Vermouth, the woman whom she feared most deeply of anyone within the Organization, had not revealed the truth about Conan and Ai. Vermouth firsthand knew of both of their true identities. Any time she wished, she could attack or send someone else to . . . someone like Gin.

She subconsciously clenched a fist. She did not want to think of Gin. It only confused her, especially after their recent meetings. She could still hear his dark voice in her mind, speaking in such a twisted manner. He had not always been that way, but the Organization had moulded him into one of their soldiers, bringing out his sadistic, dangerous side in ways that likely would have not been made manifest otherwise.

_"Beautiful Sherry," he purred, looking her up and down as she struggled to hold the gun steady that she was pointing at his head. "Do you want to end this now?" He stepped closer, unafraid of the gun or of what she would do with it. Instead he reached out, laying a strong, bare hand against her cheek. "I can easily imagine your body, torn and broken and bleeding, as it plunges into the water, staining the waves a deep crimson that will forever mark your grave."_

_She was surprised that his hand was still warm, though she knew such thoughts were ridiculous. But it seemed to her that his flesh should be as cold as his heart and soul. It should not be warm, the same as other people's---people such as Agasa, or Ran, or even Kudo. Of course . . . following such a train of thought, should not her own skin be ice cold, after the crimes she had committed?_

_"I'll kill you," she hissed then, desperately trying to press the weapon against his forehead. She did not know why she could not seem to manage to do it. Her hand was trembling in an unmistakeable way, and she knew Gin could see it. That was probably why he was so confident. He was not afraid of her. He did not believe she would actually pull the trigger. He did not believe that she even could, if she wanted to._

_He chuckled darkly, pushing aside the gun with the same hand that had touched her. "But you won't, will you, Sherry?" he replied, voicing her thoughts. "You won't, because you can't forget what we once had. You hate me, but you can't forget." Without warning he brought an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. She barely had time to jab the gun into his abdomen before his lips were pressed against hers._

_Her eyes widened in utter shock at the abrupt action. She did not even know how to react. His kiss lingered, unreturned, and though she tried to pull away, she felt something within her give a leap. Her hand came to rest gently on his shoulder as she began to lean into his firm grip. He had been her everything, once before. She had loved him so much that it had hurt, and when he had betrayed her by killing Akemi, she had been completely shattered. But then her betrayed feelings had turned to hate. Immediately she pulled away from him._

And yet there had still been that moment of hesitation, that instant where she had wanted to be held by him, to be in his strong embrace and to know that he would never let her go. It was frightening. She could not feel that way about him. She could not! They could never be together any more, after what he had done and after she had chosen her new path. He would always be in the Black Organization, and the only thing she wanted now was to be free of it forever. What they had once had, they had lost. And they could never get it back again.

She started to turn a corner, blinking back the tears that had escaped into her eyes and were threatening to spill down her face. She hated him now. She could never feel any different towards him . . . but she knew it was too late to tell herself such things. She still loved him, whether she could bring herself to fully admit it or not. Underneath all the loathing, and the fear, was the love that had belonged to him and only to him. She had loved Kudo, but it had not been at all like what she had felt for Gin. However, she was still in the process of sorting through the exact nature of those feelings. And she could not help but wonder at times if she would ever have any lasting happiness. It always seemed to fade away into the night. Of course . . . someone such as her most likely did not deserve the happiness that others received. Such happiness was probably reserved for those who had never fallen into the trap she had, with the Black Organization.

The squeal of tires brought her back to the present, and she looked up in alarm as a car swerved through the snow, completely out of control. She turned to run, but she was not quick enough. It slammed harshly into her body, and her eyes widened in pain and anguish as she felt herself flying several feet to land limply in the white snow. For what seemed a long moment she lay dazed, unable to move or even to process thought. But then she shuddered, tasting blood in her mouth. As she blinked and looked blearily and semi-consciously at the whiteness around her, she became aware that it was being colored red.

* * *

He had been quiet all evening. During the drive to the site of their assignment, the assignment itself, and now on the drive back, he had barely spoken. Instead he gripped the wheel and clenched a cigarette between his teeth, staring out blankly into the swirling flakes that were dancing all around the car. Vodka had to admit that frankly, he was worried. The blonde was oftentimes silent, but rarely this much. 

Finally he gathered the courage to speak. "Bro?"

Gin grunted in reply.

Vodka shifted nervously in his seat. "Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Gin kept his gaze on the road, only barely glancing at his partner out of the corner of his eye. He puffed on the nearly depleted cigarette, and Vodka watched as the smoke hovered for a moment before drifting to the windshield.

"I don't know. . . ." But Vodka actually felt sure that he did. Gin had met Sherry again, nearly two weeks previous. Vodka had seen how the other was both pained and pleased by the encounter, and Gin had not wanted to let Sherry out of his sight. But during the chaos it had been unavoidable, and the redhaired woman had managed to disappear during a scare when several buildings were exploding. Gin had refused to believe that she had been caught in any of the blasts, and since then Vodka had felt the blonde's intense desperation to locate the one who had once been his lover. Gin had always wanted to find her, since she had vanished from the locked room at the base, but now he wanted it all the more. His frantic desire was almost tangible.

Vodka did not know what Gin planned to do if he found her again. What really was there to do except to fulfill their mission and kill her? Still, Vodka had his doubts that Gin would go through with it. And if he did, the heavyset man feared that Gin would never be the same. Once he would pull the trigger that final time, there would not be any turning back. As long as he shot her only to incapacitate her, there would always be a next time. Perhaps he wanted to prolong her pain. Vodka did not doubt that, but he had to wonder if Gin was also deliberately holding back from finishing the task. If she died . . . if she was no longer there as a goal for Gin to achieve, how would he handle it? Vodka knew Gin enjoyed the chase, looked forward to it, even. And sometimes he wondered what the complete reasons were behind it. Did Gin truly not love her any more, or were those feelings still there, buried under the hate?

Vodka could easily recall when things had been different. For nearly six years, all three of them had lived in Chicago, in the manor that Gin and Sherry had grown up in. Those years had been awkward for Vodka, living under the same roof with a girl with whom he had never gotten along, but he had endured it because Gin was his partner and it was something that had to be. If circumstances had been different, though, and if he and Gin were not bound by the Organization, he wondered if he would have done the same thing and lived there with them. Sherry had always been mostly indifferent to him, when she was not outright disliking him, but she had known that he was wanted there by Gin and so she had been willing to coexist with Vodka.

Of course . . . without the Organization, it was likely that none of them would have met in the first place. Funny . . . how things worked.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you, bro?" Vodka knew he was taking a chance by even asking, but at this point his desire to know was taking precedence over any concerns of what would happen to him if Gin became furious.

The other's eyes narrowed. Still he did not speak, but as he removed the cigarette stub and placed it in the ashtray, he did something Vodka had not expected.

He smirked in an eerie way, as if amused by either Vodka, the question, or something else entirely. "Do you think I'm a fool, Vodka?" he mused, leaving the more rich area of Beika City to go through several of the surrounding neighborhoods. It was the quickest way back to the freeway, and from there they could return to the base and wait out the worst part of the storm. A good night's rest sounded relaxing, after the eventful evening from which they were coming back.

Vodka was taken aback by the question. For a long moment he simply gawked at the green-eyed man, too stunned to even begin to think of a reply. He could feel his mouth working, but no sounds would emerge. At last he succeeded. "Why do you ask that, bro?"

Gin shrugged. "Because I keep pursuing a course that's both ridiculous and hopeless," he answered. At the corner he had to stop for a semaphore, and he took the opportunity to light another cigarette. He did not have to say what he meant.

Vodka bit his lip, watching Gin before gazing out at the white mists. There did not seem to be other cars around, though they had passed one, as well as several varied people on foot. "It's our mission," he mumbled helplessly. "We're supposed to catch her. . . ."

Gin chuckled. "Though it seems to me that I'm chasing ghosts from the past," he answered. The light turned green and he pressed on the accellerator again, cruising carefully under the semaphore. A clump of snow fell off the thick cord, landing on the roof as they did so. Vodka jumped. Gin paid little attention.

"I don't know what to tell you, bro," Vodka admitted quietly. Gin had acted like this for the past two weeks---the smirking, the odd remarks, and the all-around feeling that he was amused in a self-depreciating way. On the outside he seemed relaxed when he entered these moods, but Vodka had the distinct impression that Gin was hiding unimaginable pain behind his smirk. Gin missed Sherry, and after seeing her again, his feelings had only increased tenfold. He could never say so, but he seemed to know that it was unnecessary to do so, and that Vodka knew what he needed to. And while Vodka was honored to be so highly trusted by someone whom he greatly looked up to, that did not lessen his fears that he could not help Gin when it counted.

"Well," Gin grinned, "that makes two of us."

Vodka mulled this conversation over in his mind, suddenly realizing that he had not answered Gin's original question. And he did, at least, know the answer to that. He looked back to his partner. "I don't think you're a fool, Gin. . . ."

The grin did not disappear. "Oh?"

Vodka wondered if Gin believed him, or if he had known all along that Vodka would give this reply. "No, I really don't," the stout man confirmed. "You loved her. . . . And . . . I don't know . . . you want her back. It's only human." He shifted again, feeling uncomfortable. He knew what he thought might be going on in Gin's mind, but he also knew that he did not actually know for certain. Perhaps the other's smirk was because Vodka was so very far off track.

Now Gin looked thoughtful, if not disbelieving. "Human, eh?" he repeated. "Are people like us even human at all, Vodka?"

Vodka shrugged helplessly. The words he wanted to say would not come. Gin had baffled him. And he slumped back into the seat, admitting defeat.

"I thought so," Gin smirked.

Suddenly he sobered, throwing on the brakes as the Porsche slid over a rough patch of ice. Vodka gasped, flying forward and then back against the seat as they spun about before careening ahead into the heavy drifts. Subconsciously he gripped the door handle, his knuckles turning white. He had to wonder if they were going to die. He heard Gin muttering a curse next to him, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the blonde was braced for a crash.

When it came, it was more of a dull, flat thump. As the car came to a complete halt, the shaken occupants slumped back, each relieved and somewhat confused. What had happened? What had they struck? Amid the harsh snow, visibility had neared almost to zero. At least, that was how Vodka felt. When it finally dawned on him that they had hit a person, Gin had already determined that and was getting out of the car. Vodka swallowed hard, shakily undoing his seatbelt as he opened the door and went to follow. As he stepped into the snow, Gin's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Sherry. . . ."

_Sherry? _Vodka silently cried in disbelief. They had hit _Sherry?_ Suddenly he felt overwhelmed. Quickly he hurried to catch up to his partner, his thoughts tumbling over and over in his mind. How badly was she hurt? Was she . . . dead?

Gin was feeling even more bewildered than Vodka. As soon as he had exited the car and seen the blood, his thoughts had returned to the encounter with the chemist on the hotel roof. And as he walked forward, the snow crunching under his feet, he discovered a body crumpled in a snowbank under a tree. He froze as he caught a glimpse of red hair, not consciously aware that he had whispered her name. His thoughts tumbled over each other before arriving at the same possibility that Vodka had reached. But no . . . that would not be true. She could not die like this, because of an accident, because of something that had not even been meant. . . . If she died, it had to be deliberate, being fatally shot by Gin's gun.

Did he want her dead at all? He growled, pushing the thought out of his mind as he made his way over to her.

She moaned, coughing weakly as she tried to look up at the man towering over her. In her failing vision, she could make out a blur of black and golden, and she weakly gripped at the snow. It was Gin . . . she knew it was Gin. He had found her, through this bizarre coincidence. Or had hitting her been on purpose? No . . . he would not want to damage his car. She smirked in spite of herself before feeling a new twinge of fear. He would kill her now. . . . He would kill her, and then go after the others, even Ayumi. . . . None of them were safe in the end. The Organization would win, as always. . . .

He bent down in front of her, and she felt his strong hands upon her body. Instinctively she jerked away, wanting to be able to move, to get away from this man who frightened her so badly. But she could not budge, and his hands came down again, checking her over for injuries. They went along her neck and her back, before traveling to her limbs. All she wanted was to make him stop, to make the pleasurable sensations go away, to not be enjoying his touch somewhere in her mind.

"Your spine isn't damaged," she heard him murmur, and she could smell the ever-present cigarette smoke on him. He had smoked for years, since he had returned from Japan and brought Vodka with him, when he had been twenty. . . .

Weakly she coughed again, struggling to get out the words that were running through her mind. "Why do you care? You'll only kill me anyway. . . ." But not until they were out of her mouth did she realize that she had managed to speak.

He brushed away some of the disheveled reddish locks from her face. For a moment she almost thought she saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes, but then she knew it was only an illusion from her blurred vision. He would not be downcast. This was what he had wanted. She shut her eyes tightly. Why could he not simply kill her and have it done? Why did he have to torment her by tauntingly shooting her, or by touching her in ways that would make her remember? He was so cruel. . . . She hated him. She hated him almost beyond her wildest imagination. And what she hated the most was that some part of her wanted him there. "Go away," she choked out, her voice a strangled sob. "If you're not going to kill me, then just leave me here to die. Haven't you punished me enough? Haven't you had enough fun yet?"

There was a long silence, and she wondered for a brief moment if Gin had left. But no, she would have heard. He was still there. He was always there, haunting her. He would never leave.

She gasped when she felt herself being lifted into Gin's strong arms. She reached up, grabbing at his shoulder as she forced her eyes open again. She could barely see him, with the combination of the fierce snow and the impending unconsciousness. But she could feel his heart racing as her head fell against his chest. It was strange . . . how she somehow could feel safe in the grasp of such a twisted and possessive man. As oblivion blanketed her, she had the distinct impression that he was not going to hurt her. It was ridiculous, the thoughts that could fill one's mind when injured.


	2. Stoplight, Lock the Door

**Chapter One**

Consciousness came slowly, and brought with it a slow and soft feeling of security and warmth. A dull ache had spread over her body, but she could feel that the pain was somewhat tempered. Maybe she had been given a painkiller. Or maybe she was still not awake enough to feel the agony.

She wondered about her location. There was silence in the room, so she could not be in a hospital. And somehow she did not think she was at Dr. Agasa's. But then . . . where? And what was the tingling sensation she felt at the back of her neck and spreading over her body? It seemed so ominous.

Horror slammed into her heart like a piercing arrow as the memories flooded back. Gin had accidentally hit her with his car, and had taken her. She was with him. He had to be the presence she felt in the room---so familiar and so dark. What was he doing? Her eyes were still closed and she could not see him, though she knew he was there. She wrestled with her eyelids desperately, knowing that she had to fully awaken and immediately find a way to leave. If she did not, she would die here, and Gin would use her to find everyone else. They would all die, and she could not let that happen.

But . . . why had he let her live at all? He had the perfect opportunity to kill her back in the snow. She swallowed hard. She was being further used as something for him to be amused by. He enjoyed torturing her. That was what this was all about. It had to be. That was the only reason he would ever keep her alive.

At last she forced her eyes open halfway, and she blinked several times as the bleary scene came into focus. She was laying in a bed in a well-furnished and dimly-lit room, from which the only escape routes were a normal door that was probably locked and two glass balcony doors, in front of which sat the man in black whom she feared. He was watching her expressionlessly, but when he saw that she was awake, a frightening smirk came over his features. Her heart began to race.

"Good evening, Sherry," he purred.

She swallowed hard, trying to gather her wits about her---and to push back the other feelings she was experiencing over seeing him again. She still hated him, she still felt betrayed by him, but some part of her was still pleased by his presence. She frowned. It was unacceptable to feel that way about him. She did not even understand how she still could. Was she a glutton for punishment? More than likely, she was just a fool.

"I'm sure it is a good evening for you," she answered wryly. "Now you've got what you wanted." She wanted to attempt to rise, but she could feel that her body was not going to cooperate. All she could do was to lay there, helpless, and wonder if Gin was going to suddenly draw his gun. She studied his face, which was shadowed by the brim of that ever-present hat as well as his hair, and by the dull light in the room. "I'm in your grasp again, and I won't be able to get away."

Gin grinned further, apparently appreciative of the thought. His teeth gleamed out from the shadows. "Aren't you the least bit curious to know where you are?" he replied smoothly.

"It had crossed my mind," she said in a flat tone. "But I imagine it's a location belonging to the Black Organization. You're probably holding me here until my execution, and staying here with me to make sure I don't escape, like last time."

"Ah yes," he smirked. "I still wonder how you got away from me then. But you won't tell me, will you?"

"Sorry, Gin," she answered immediately. "I still have to keep my secrets."

"I imagined you would." He was unruffled by this, and it was obvious that he was relishing every moment of their time together. There was also a definite longing in his eyes, which she tried to ignore as he spoke again. "But I still intend to find out someday."

_You always have to get your way in the end, don't you,_ she thought silently as she continued to watch him. She would not let her guard down, not for a moment. That was too dangerous. With Gin, if one did not stay alert at all times, it was as good as writing one's own death warrant.

Now he leaned back calmly. "And do you honestly believe I could take you anywhere owned by the Organization?" he pointed out, and her eyes widened slightly. "They would want you killed on sight. After all, that's what I was assigned to do. And I nearly accomplished it on the hotel roof, didn't I?" His green eyes flickered with something indescribable. "I decided it was only fitting to bring you to the same hotel where we had that encounter."

The Haido City Hotel. . . . That was where they were. But why? She studied him. "I didn't know you were ever the sentimental type, Gin," she remarked with a smirk of her own. "You brought me here to rekindle old memories?" Now she turned carefully onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow as she watched him.

He looked back, seeming quite comfortable with his current location. "There's lots of memories to rekindle, aren't there?" he grinned. "We did have good times, Sherry . . . or have you forgotten all of that?" His voice lowered, and as he continued to speak, it almost seemed as though a wistful tone had slipped into his dark voice. "There was a time when you wanted me around, when you thrilled at my touch, when I was your protector. Are all of those feelings truly past?" He continued to study her, though now his eyes were hidden by the long bangs.

She felt a chill start to spread over her being, and she gripped a handful of the quilt as her eyes narrowed. "Yes," she answered coldly, "those feelings have diminished to nothing. You know that. I hate you, Gin. You betrayed me when you killed Akemi. You proved that you aren't the man I used to love and who used to protect me." Her hand was trembling, but she was unaware of both that and the fact that her knuckles had gone white. "That man is dead. You don't want to protect me any longer, obviously."

She did not bother to remember that for the last months, she had began to question whether or not it was true that Gin's kinder side was dead. That part of her was foolish, though she wanted to believe so badly after what he had apparently done for Ayumi. She was overwhelmed by this entire situation, and angry at Gin's attempt to steer the conversation topic to them. It was his own fault that they were not still together. How dare he try to reminisce! How dare he even bring her there in the first place! It would have been better to have just killed her instead of putting her through this torment. Perhaps, she thought, she wanted to hurt him with her words, the way he was always hurting her---or maybe she wanted to see if it was even possible to hurt him any more. She doubted that it was possible.

Gin's expression twisted into anger and he stood abruptly, his coat and his hair sweeping out around him. His eyes became visible, and they flashed with emerald sparks as he took several steps towards her. She held her ground, her fear being consumed by her fury and the hurt feelings that were swelling to the surface again. Despite the fact that Gin looked quite ready to strike her, she spoke again, her voice fervent as it grew louder.

"I hate you! If I could, I would end your life right now. I would pay you back for everything you took from me. You didn't just take my sister. You took my trust . . . and my heart." Her own eyes flashed, and she rose up further, reaching to grab at him. Did he even know what he had done to her? Had he ever known? But he had to have known. He was not an idiot. Everything he had done, he had done to torment her, to break her, to destroy the loving feelings she had held for him.

"I did love you, Gin!" she continued now. "Did you want me to stop? Did you want to be as hated as you are now?" She was tempted to say that no one would care if he died tonight, but she held her tongue. She knew that it was not true. Ayumi would care, very much. She would be heartbroken. And Vodka, too, had always cared about his partner. Sherry supposed that he still did.

"Did you ever love me at all? Did you ever love me, or was it always a game to you?" she demanded when Gin remained silent and motionless, his gaze of ice boring into her very being. "Was I just something to amuse you with when you were bored?" All of her emotions were spilling over now that she was seeing him again, and now that she was alone with him, unlike it had been during their last meeting at the docks. The questions that had been plying her heart for months were coming forth, and she could not stop them.

She did notice that Gin stiffened at these queries. She was not sure what that meant, but right now she did not care. She just wanted some concrete answers. "Tell me, Gin!" she cried, looking up at him.

Gin gritted his teeth, looking as though it was taking every ounce of his willpower not to hit her. Without warning he drew his gun, and for a split second she believed he was going to kill her then and there. But instead he placed it in her hands, and she froze in stunned shock. She stared at the weapon as it weighed down her hands, which were still shaking slightly. Then she looked up at him, unsure of what was going on or why he was doing this.

"Kill me, Sherry." His voice was cold again, and dark, and there was no indication of what he was now thinking. Part of a green eye looked at her from behind the golden locks, and it did not betray Gin's inner feelings. "You have the perfect opportunity. The gun is in your hands. Place a bullet right here . . ." he tapped his forehead, ". . . and then see how you feel about it. I'll be out of your life then. You'll never have to fear me again, and you can continue to hate me all you wish."

She stared at him, unable to tear away her gaze. It was a trick . . . it had to be a trick. He would not gamble with his life like that. The gun was probably out of ammunition. She looked down at it again. It felt too heavy to be empty. But he probably had another gun, which he would bring out if she tried to use this one.

"My life is in your hands. There aren't any strings attached, except what you yourself might experience after the task is done. But if that doesn't bother you, and if you think you can kill me, then do it."

Her eyes narrowed. Slowly she fit the weapon into her right hand, shaking as she brought it up to Gin's forehead and pressed the barrel against his blonde bangs. He watched her, motionless, making no attempt to stop her. Instead he kept his hands perfectly still at his sides and his expression completely impassive. Was he actually going to let her do this? What was he trying to prove? Did he want to die that badly? Or was this scenario the same as it had been at the docks, when Gin had repeatedly insisted that she would not kill him, no matter how much she claimed she wanted to? But that time, he had kissed her and caught her off guard. That was not the case now.

She looked into his eyes, searching for answers, as she had done so many times in the past. She had grown up with him, he had protected her, he had loved her---she thought. She had loved him and only him, and his betrayal had entirely shattered her spirit. But still . . . she remembered how he had recently protected Ayumi more than once. She did not know what that meant. She did not understand. At the docks, during their previous meeting, she had asked him. He had not answered. But the memory of the kiss he had given her still lingered in her mind, and she was unaware of the tears that were brimming her eyes.

She had longed to kill him for what he had done to Akemi, and to herself. She had planned it out in her mind many times since running away from the Organization. They would meet again, but she would have the gun. He would look at her, surprised that she had the upper hand. She would squeeze the trigger repeatedly, watching his blood spill from the fatal wounds, and he would fall lifelessly to the ground. She would be rid of him forever. She would never have to look at him again, nor to recall their past together. It would be a relief, something she would relish. She could kill him right now, and experience the satisfaction over watching him die. She tried to steady her finger over the trigger.

There was something in his eyes that prevented her from pulling it. He was unafraid, unconcerned about his life, but that was not why. She could see other emotions and feelings, ones that she recognized, but could not identify. And she wondered just how long she would be satisfied over his death. They had come through so much . . . she had loved him; even now, she had felt a certain thrill that he was with her, though she tried to push it back. She did not know why she could not finish this, when she had wanted it. Was it because of what she had learned from her time as Ai Haibara? Did she want to leave behind the life of a murderer completely, even if that meant she could not destroy the life that had destroyed her sister's? Or . . . was it more than that? Was it because of what he had meant to her in the past?

For whatever reason, she could not kill him. She knew that she could not. And her shoulders slumped as she lowered the gun. The tears spilled over from her eyes.

Slowly Gin reached out, taking the weapon from her. "You couldn't do it," he remarked, and his voice held no surprise. He had planned on this result, and that was made more obvious by his next words. "Just as you couldn't do it at the docks, when you also had the perfect chance. Maybe you had even more of an opportunity then rather than now." He replaced the gun in his shoulder holster, never averting his gaze from her. "You don't really want me dead, Sherry." And again he reached out, this time touching her cheek and brushing away the tears that were trailing despondently down her face.

She shuddered at his touch. No . . . she did not want him to touch her. She did not want those feelings to be stirred up again. She wanted to forget. Oh! How she wanted to forget! But she knew she never would, or even could. Throughout the months she had spent as Ai Haibara, she had thought of him many times daily, sometimes so often that she had felt she would go mad. And always, no matter what memories she unwillingly dredged up of him, it came back to Akemi's death. That was what divided them now, and always would. "Go away," she half-pleaded, half-ordered, turning her head away from him. "Leave me alone."

He walked past her then, saying nothing as he got to the door. "You should rest," he said quietly as he opened it and stepped into the room beyond. "You weren't seriously hurt by the car, but you're not well enough to be up." And with that he shut the door again, leaving her alone as she had requested.

The room suddenly seemed very empty. She slumped back into the pillows, resisting the partial urge she felt to call him back. Several more tears leaked from her eyes, but then she reached up, angrily brushing them away. How could she have shown such weakness to Gin? How could she have let him see her cry? He had not seen tears from her in so long, and not tears concerning him since the time years before when she had found him badly injured and nearly dead after one of his first assignments. She had cried then, believing she would lose him. But upon Akemi's death, she had not cried in his presence, even though her heart had ached. She had lost him in the end, but not to death. To lose him because of a betrayal seemed much worse.

As she began to slowly calm down, she suddenly wondered what she was wearing. It could not be the clothes she had had on when the Porsche had struck her. They would be bloodied and soaking wet.

Frowning, she threw back the quilt and looked down at herself. She was wearing a fairly modest, silk white negligee, and when she touched the places where she knew she had been injured, she felt bandages. Had Gin been the one to undress her and treat her wounds? She was not certain that she liked the thought. She and Gin had never slept together, but there had been times when they had seen each other in various states of undress. Sometimes that had happened by accident, but at other points it had been when tending to injuries of some kind. That was in the past now, and Gin no longer had the right to do as he had done before. She did not want him to touch her, let alone to treat her wounds and to place her in a nightgown.

Slowly and shakily she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and placed her hands on the edge as she forced herself up despite protests from her aching body. She knew that she could not settle back and rest, at least not until she had seen all of this place. She doubted that she would ever get concrete answers to her questions, but if nothing else, she wanted to see where she was being held captive.

Using the wall to assist, she made her way over to the door and turned the knob. To her surprise, it was not locked. She had thought Gin would have turned the key as he had left. Carefully she stepped into the next room, discovering that it was a spacious and pleasantly furnished living room, with three plush chairs, two soft couches, and a loveseat. A coffee table was in front of one of the couches, and an ashtray was on top of it. Gin was not there, but Vodka was. He was sitting in one of the chairs, smoking a cigarette, and he looked up upon seeing her there. Instantly he looked uncomfortable.

She smirked slightly. She often thought of Vodka as Gin's shadow. The quiet man was almost always with the blonde, even when they were not on assignment. Sometimes she still wondered how he and Gin had made it work and gotten along so well. She never had liked Vodka, and she sensed that the feeling was mutual. But Gin had almost always liked him, from what she knew.

"Where did Gin go?" she asked now.

Vodka shrugged a bit. "I don't know. . . . Out, I guess. . . . He does that sometimes." Usually Gin would vanish like that when he wanted to think, and Vodka knew that there was a lot on the other man's mind tonight. Vodka had unofficially been left in charge of watching Sherry, and he shifted, wanting to get away from her gaze. He was certain that he was not imagining the tension in the air. Even though he and Sherry had never gotten along well, it was much more that way now, after what had happened between her and Gin. He doubted that the rift could ever actually be mended. Gin was too proud to admit he loved her, and she either did not love him any longer or else she could not say that she did because of one reason or another. Perhaps if she still did, she felt guilty about it.

The stout man had to wonder what had been going on in her bedroom several moments earlier. He had heard her voice rising as she had accused Gin, but he had not been able to hear the other's quiet replies. When Gin had come out of the room afterwards, there had not been any indication of what he had been thinking---though at least he had not looked furious. He had, however, obviously been deep in thought, and when he had spoken to Vodka, it had been in a vague, far away tone.

"I know he does," Sherry spoke. "I'm familiar with his habits by now." And it seemed melancholy in a way, to still remember so much about someone after the relationship had ended. It was not as if she wanted to keep recalling how Gin had been, but she could never make herself forget. She had been remembering much more profoundly as of late, however.

And though she had never told Kudo, she knew he had began to suspect. She had refused to talk about the incident at the docks, which had quickly become a source of annoyance and even anger between them. It was a part of her life that she did not want to share with him, for several reasons. She doubted that he would really be able to understand her feelings for Gin. She did not understand herself. And she did not need a lecture on how dangerous and unhealthy such a relationship was, as she knew all too well.

Knowing that she needed to sit down, she made her way slowly and painfully to the nearest couch and sank onto it. Its softness felt good against her weary body, but she knew that she could not get too comfortable under the circumstances. She still had to stay alert. "He'll probably freeze to death if he stays out there too long," she remarked then, her voice wry and sardonic.

Vodka looked away. He had not wanted Gin to go out, and had reminded him of the snow and ice, but the green-eyed man had answered that he would be fine and that he would be back before long. And of course, Vodka had not been able to stop him from going.

"So . . . when is he planning to kill me?" she asked. Her eyes narrowed. "I'm tired of the way he always drags it out. If he's going to do it, he should get it over with." She studied Vodka, trying to see his eyes behind the sunglasses. Somehow she doubted that even he knew what was going on in Gin's mind right now. Vodka was good at understanding his partner on most things, but when it came to Sherry, he rarely seemed to know what to think. She was starting to wonder if even Gin knew what to think.

Vodka shook his head, uncomfortable with this line of conversation. He did not want to speak for Gin. That was not his place. Though, there was one thing he wanted to tell her, despite his uneasiness, and he looked back into her questioning sapphire eyes. "Gin could get killed himself," he mumbled.

She raised an eyebrow, not understanding. "I know there's always that danger in your line of work," she replied. "Am I supposed to care what happens to him?" She knew that Vodka never even wanted to talk to her, and would always try to end their discussions as soon as he could, so it also surprised her that he was lengthening this one.

Vodka bit his lip. "Well . . . it's because of you that he might die," he answered finally, and his eyes narrowed slightly. He had always feared that one way or another, she would be the death of the only person he actually cared about, and he was certain that his fear was now coming true. Gin was acting irrationally, desperate to have Sherry with him again, and his actions were not likely to go unnoticed for long. Vodka felt helpless.

Now she frowned. "What do you mean?" The almost accusatory tone was also not like Vodka, at least not the Vodka she had known. He had never been this bold with her in the past, except for when he had shoved her ahead of him on the fateful day when she had escaped the Organization. Either he had changed, he was very upset right now, or it was a combination of both.

He held the cigarette between his fingers, nearly crushing it. "No one knows he's brought you here," he said finally. "I heard Gin say to you that we're ordered to kill you on sight, and that's true." He paused, and his voice actually gained a visible edge. "If they learn what Gin's done now . . . they'll think he's a traitor and they'll probably come to kill him." And Vodka did not know what they would do then. They would have to fight against people who had previously been their allies. Gin would never go down without a fight, but the Organization would know that and they would likely send several strong agents at once to try to take him out. And Vodka was afraid that they would not be able to fight off all of them. He did not want to see Gin die now because of this woman, and yet on the other hand, he was becoming increasingly sure that Gin had been dying a bit every day since she had left him.

She was stunned. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. Gin was putting his life at risk. He had known that she would not kill him, but there was not any such assurance where the Organization was concerned. They would pursue him until he was dead, if they believed he had turned against them. At last she found her voice. "Why is he doing this?"

Now Vodka did crush the cigarette. "If you honestly don't know, I'm not going to be the one to tell you," he replied quietly, getting out of the chair. Without another word he went past her, disappearing into the other bedroom and shutting the door behind him. Sherry stared after him, still in shock.

Vodka sighed, slumping against the other side of the door as he threw away the cigarette into a nearby ashtray. He himself was surprised by what he had said. As with most women, Sherry had the ability to make him extremely nervous. Usually he would become completely tongue-tied around her and others, such as Vermouth. He rarely ever spoke his mind as he had done now. He wondered if he would regret it later.

He had not wanted Gin to bring Sherry with them after the accident with the car. He had partially hoped that Gin would simply complete their mission and fatally shoot her, but he also felt guilty for wishing it. He felt certain that Gin would never get over it, no matter how much the blonde denied still loving the woman. And so the only thing he had managed to say had been a feeble protest when Gin had picked her up in his strong arms, to which Gin had merely grunted in reply. He could not have stopped Gin from doing what he had wanted to, and he knew he never would have tried, unless he fully believed that it would be for Gin's own good. Right now, Vodka honestly did not know what would be the best thing for his longtime partner.

But what were they going to do now? They could not stay here indefinitely, though the snowstorm would probably ground them at least until morning. He and Gin were bound by the Organization, whether they wanted it or not. And Sherry was a traitor. Gin had always made it a point to get his duty done, whatever that duty might be, but when it came to Sherry his resolve had always been weak. If Gin could not bear to kill her, then he would have to leave her and never see her again. They would have to make it look like she was dead so that the Organization would not have any doubt. But Vodka did not know if Gin could bring himself to do that, either. He had never been able to let her go.

Vodka removed his sunglasses, running a hand over his face. "Bro . . . what have you gotten us into?" he murmured. "What have you gotten _yourself_ into?" _I don't want you to die,_ he said silently. _I don't want that, but I don't know how to stop it. If they find out about this, it's all over for you. And I won't be able to do much at all to help you._

Not that Gin would want any help. He had always been extremely independent, sometimes frustratingly so. But that did not mean that Vodka would not worry and not want to help. He did, very much. If it was anyone else, he probably would not care. With Gin, someone he had known and gotten close to over such a long period of time, it was different. He wished there was a solution that could make the blonde truly happy. But he only would be fully content if Sherry was there, and that could not be.

Sighing, he wearily crossed the room and slumped onto one of the two beds in the room, draping an arm over his eyes. What a disaster.

* * *

Shinichi Kudo sat in the living room of his childhood friend Ran Mouri, shifting nervously as he leaned forward, clasping his hands. In the two weeks since his reappearance, Ran had been alternately joyous that he was back and furious that he had been away so long with only infrequent calls and visits. That did not help him feel more confident in telling her about his identity as Conan Edogawa, and he watched her as she paced around the room. 

Finally she stopped, and as it happened, she stopped right in front of a picture of Conan on top of the bookcase. She frowned, crossing her arms as she studied it. "It still seems strange, that Conan had to leave so suddenly," she mused. "In fact, the whole thing with him was strange, especially the way his parents acted."

Shinichi swallowed hard, hoping that his uneasiness was not that apparent. "Yeah, it was pretty weird," he agreed. _Well,_ he thought to himself, _that's not a lie, anyway._

"Maybe you should investigate, Shinichi," Ran declared.

"Maybe," Shinichi answered guardedly.

Ran turned to face him, and he could not miss the way her blue eyes glittered suspiciously. "I still can't get over how much Conan looks like you, when you were his age," she commented, staring him down as if hoping to get a certain reaction.

Many different responses swirled through Shinichi's mind in a matter of seconds, but finally he chose one which may or may not have been wise. "Yeah, well . . . about that . . ." he said slowly.

Immediately Ran gave a figurative pounce. "Aha! You are Conan, aren't you, Shinichi?" she cried triumphantly. "You tried to confuse me, and I'd give in, but there's always been that nagging feeling in my mind that Conan is you."

Shinichi blinked in surprise, but then wondered if this turn of events was actually a good thing. If Ran had already figured it out, then maybe he would not have as much to explain, and perhaps she would not be angry. Still, he doubted he should take the chance. "Are you mad, Ran?" he asked then.

She stopped, smiling a bit too sweetly. "Mad? Of course not," she answered. Shinichi recognized this as the danger sign, and he gave a weak "Eep!" as he dove out of the way of Ran's flying fist, which then slammed into the wall and cracked it.

"I just want to ask one question, Shinichi," she said then, still in that overly sweet tone. Suddenly she lunged, swinging a foot out at Shinichi and barely missing as he leaped onto the couch. "_WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?_" she screamed. Her foot connected with a lamp, and it crashed to the floor and broke.

"Ran! Let me explain!" Shinichi yelped as he tumbled backward off the couch to painfully land onto the floor. He had the distinct feeling that his goose was cooked.

The hapless teenage detective's eyes flew open as he made contact with the wood. For a moment he lay there, trying to comprehend what had just happened. He was alone, in his darkened bedroom. He ran a hand through his now-messy hair, muttering to himself. Apparently he had tumbled backward off his bed, and that had woke him up. Now he was tangled in the covers.

Ran was not there, and she did not know his secret, at least not to his knowledge. But that dream certainly did not help to give him confidence, even though he knew it had come about because of his fears about telling her. It was true that he had wanted to protect her by keeping the knowledge from her, though several times he had been about to tell her when something had happened that had thwarted that plan. And by now he honestly did have to wonder how the confession would go. Shiho, in amusement, had made jokes about it, much to his annoyance. But surely it was ridiculous, and Ran would be more understanding and calm than in the dream. . . . Or would it be even worse in real life?

"Shinichi?"

He started at the voice and the knocking, and as it registered that it was Dr. Agasa calling, he slowly struggled to his feet and began to unwind the quilt. "I'm coming!" he called, still half-asleep. What would Agasa be doing coming over at this time of night? He sounded almost urgent. Had something gone wrong? Quickly and carelessly Shinichi tossed the comforter back onto the bed and hurried out of the room and downstairs. In his haste, he nearly tripped over a stair and had to grab onto the banister for balance, muttering to himself. Then he proceeded down the remaining stairs carefully, but moving as fast as he dared without the danger of tripping.

When he finally got the door opened, he found himself looking at a very worried Dr. Agasa, clad in a robe and fuzzy slippers. Shinichi frowned. "Dr. Agasa, you're going to catch a cold, if not pneumonia," he proclaimed, and led the shivering professor inside. "What's wrong?"

The older man looked at him seriously. "Shinichi, Shiho went out to get groceries earlier tonight," he exclaimed. "I told her she should wait, but she said that it would be worse later and that it would be better to get them now. But it's been hours, and she hasn't come back yet!" And he had been worrying sick over what could have happened. He supposed it could just be that the snow was slowing her up, but after so long it seemed more likely that something had gone wrong. Perhaps she had gotten into an accident, having been hit by a car and then succumbing to the cold. Or maybe even she had been assaulted by someone. The prospect of the heavy storm could be making some people so desperate for food, they would do anything to get it.

Shinichi frowned more deeply at this news. Of all things he could have been told, he had not expected this at all. "How long ago did she leave?" he demanded.

Agasa sighed, shaking his head. "I'm not entirely sure!" he replied. "I was working in my laboratory before she left, and after, and I'm afraid I lost track of time," he admitted apologetically. "But I do know it's been at least several hours."

Shinichi thought it over, many of the same worst case scenarios floating through his own mind. And there was another that he would add to the list---maybe she had been found by the Black Organization. It had only been two weeks ago when she had encountered Gin, and Shinichi was still shocked by the details of that meeting. He had suspected for some time that Shiho had held close feelings for the blonde assassin, but to have witnessed Gin kissing her was something he had never expected to see no matter how many years went by. Seeing that scene had not at all changed Shinichi's mind that meeting the Black Organization was very dangerous, and that it would be Shiho's undoing. The apparent past between her and Gin only made it all the more worrisome.

He glanced out through the screen door, surveying the white world. He could barely see past the end of the driveway, and he remembered hearing on the radio that the blizzard conditions were expected to continue throughout the night and into the next day. It would not even be safe to go out looking for Shiho tonight, as much as he wanted to. Going out would be sheer foolishness, and he knew she would tell him the same thing. Most likely, instead of being able to find her, he would get himself and Agasa lost.

"She might be fine," he spoke at last, looking back to Agasa. "The phone lines could be down in other parts of the city. Maybe she's even snowed in at the store." His eyes narrowed. "But in any case, we can't do anything until the storm clears up at least a bit." He gestured to the door. "There's no way we could go out in that."

The old professor swallowed in concern. He knew that Shinichi was right, but that did not mean he would stop worrying. He had idly hoped that the boy would have some news of the chemist, but now he saw that it was not so. And he supposed that the only thing they could do right now was to worry together---which, of course, was not very constructive. But the nature of the storm was making it impossible to do anything constructive where missing people were concerned.

* * *

The blonde lit a cigarette, watching the flame as it stood out against the gray of the sky and the white of the blissfully descending snowflakes. The near-blizzard conditions had calmed down for at least a few moments, at least in that area, and Gin had gone up to the hotel roof to watch it and to ponder.

Sherry had nearly died there in the past. In his mind, he could still see her laying in the snow, her blood splattered about and staining the whiteness. He could see her looking up at him through the glasses, her eyes glazing over from the pain. She had believed that he would kill her then, but had a part of her wondered if he actually would? Had he himself wondered? He had been about to pull the trigger when he had been shot by that dart. But would he have instead delivered another non-fatal shot, if he had been allowed to fire? Would he have actually wanted to and tried to end her lovely life, or would he have prolonged it once again? He did not know anymore.

He stared off into the distance, puffing on the cigarette. She had infuriated him back inside, when she had asked if he had ever loved her. Even if she believed that he did not love her anymore, and even if he did not, did she not know that he had in the past? He had never lied to her. She had been everything to him, but he had not realized just how much he had taken her for granted until she had left. And ever since, he had been desperate to get her back, though even he was not sure why. Or he was just too stubborn to admit the reason?

Hmm. . . . Would her words actually have angered him so much, he wondered, if he did not still care? He smirked in the darkness. It would seem pointless to become incensed if he did not still have deep feelings for her. That was why he rarely cared about anything that people said to him---because he did not care about them and he knew that they did not care about him.

What was he even doing tonight, anyway? He knew that Vodka had not been pleased to take Sherry with them, and Gin could understand why. Gin was endangering both Vodka and himself by what he had done. But he did not regret it. Now Sherry was with him again.

What if the Organization did learn of this, and soon? What if even now they were being watched? Gin did not consider what he had done to be traitorous, but he knew that the syndicate would have a much different view of things. And if he was not careful, he, Vodka, and Sherry could all end up dead. Together in death was not exactly what he had planned.

But had he planned anything at all? He had acted rashly, impulsively, upon seeing Sherry's soft, white body crumpled in the snow. He had let his desires get the best of him and he had swiftly taken her into his arms, clutching her as if he never wanted to let her go again. And, he supposed, he did not. She had been away from him for too long . . . much too long.

It had thrilled him to hold her limp and helpless form in his embrace, to tend to her wounds and to watch her laying unconscious in the bed. Her red hair spread out on the white pillowcase had been a lovely contrast, as well as her pale flesh and the nightgown. She looked good in white, with red surrounding her. They were her best colors. He had told her so several times.

He really was quite selfish, was he not? He did not want Vodka to die because of this, nor did he particularly want to die himself, but he was doing this anyway. Though, Vodka would not have to go along with this desperate act. Vodka would have a perfect right to refuse, on the grounds that it would be seen as traitorous. But Vodka would not refuse. Gin was certain that his partner would stand by him. Still, Gin wondered if he was taking the other for granted, the same way he had done to Sherry. He had believed that she would never leave him, and she had, despite everything they had been through and all the years they had known each other.

He leaned against the door, observing as the snowflakes began to again pick up momentum. He doubted that his actions would be discovered tonight, or even tomorrow, with the way the crystals were coming down. But what would happen after tomorrow? He knew as well as Vodka did that this could not last forever. Reality would come crashing in then, and he would have to make the final decision on what to do. But, he realized as he stood watching the snow, there were only two options, and he did not like either one.

He grinned again, his blonde hair whipping about in the increasing wind. Vodka was too blind to see the truth that Gin knew. Either that, or Vodka was simply too kind---or afraid---to reveal his true opinion on Gin's question.

He was, indeed, a fool.


	3. You Belong to Me

**Notes: Thanks to Aubrie for the wonderful role-plays! I have borrowed a couple of lines from her version of Vodka, because they were perfect.  
**

* * *

** Chapter Two**

Even operatives of a crime syndicate such as the Black Organization have to sleep sometime, and in the middle of the night, the halls of the Tokyo base were fairly deserted. Vermouth did not mind, and she idly listened to the clicking sound of her shoes as it echoed off the walls. The current, low-key pace was always pleasant after the hectic days. In another way, she supposed, it seemed a bit lonely. But then again, if she dug deep into her heart, she would find that she was almost always lonely.

She had almost always worked solo, only occasionally teaming up with other agents, such as Calvados. She could have had a steady partner, but she had not wanted it. She smirked to herself. The truth was that she often deliberately kept people at arm's length, with her flirting and teasing and her calm, composed, _femme fatale_ personality. She did not want to let anyone get past the barrier she had set up, for a number of reasons. Mostly, she knew how unwise it was to become attached to someone. And in her place in the darkness, she had to stay alone.

Fully coming back into the present, she found that she had walked over to the base's bar. She stood looking at it for a moment, thoughtfully, and then shrugged half-heartedly. Well, why not. A drink sounded good about now.

She opened the door and walked in, absorbing the dim lighting, the nearly muted jazz music, and the overall atmosphere, as she walked to the back and sat down at one of the booths. The waitress soon came over, and Vermouth quickly placed her order before leaning against the plush backing. Taking a cigarette out of its pack, she held it between her teeth as she drew out the lighter and applied the flame. She was about to let her mind wander once more when the voices in the next booth captured her attention.

"I heard from my brother today."

She frowned slightly, recognizing the voice as belonging to Jenever. He was such a disagreeable sort, and not well-liked by most of the other agents. There were not many who would voluntarily sit with him at a bar, or anywhere, for that matter. She decided that he was probably speaking to his partner Brandy, and then her suspicions were confirmed by Brandy's rough, gravelly voice.

"What did he say? Anything interesting?"

"Oh, very." It was obvious that Jenever was smirking. "You'll be interested. He mentioned that Gin met that traitor Sherry a couple weeks ago. And she's still alive following that encounter."

Vermouth narrowed her eyes. If that was true, it sounded as though Sherry had finally developed an antidote for her and Shinichi Kudo's bizarre problem. She had not heard anything about Kudo's return, but if he was back to normal, she imagined that he would want to keep it quiet. There was still the Black Organization for him to worry about, after all. And Sherry would certainly not want to make her presence known, either.

There was a pop as Brandy opened a bottle of wine. Though he also liked the occasional cigar, Vermouth knew that he would not smoke around Jenever, who despised it. Vermouth doubted, however, that Brandy actually liked his partner. He probably only tolerated Jenever because they had similar goals. It did not seem likely that either Brandy or Jenever cared about anyone besides themselves, which was typical of many of the operatives. The blind loyalty they were taught did not mean that they genuinely cared about each other. That was one reason, Vermouth supposed, why she found Gin and Vodka so interesting and so fun to tease. Gin could claim all he wanted that they were only blindly loyal, but Vermouth could easily see beyond his words.

"She outsmarted him?" Brandy asked now.

"No. Maybe it wasn't Gin's intention to let her go, but he did. And instead of shooting her on the spot, I'm told that he kissed her." Jenever chuckled darkly. "I always did think it was strange, that the chase for her has gone on so long. He could have easily gotten rid of her ages ago, if he seriously put his mind to it." A creaking sound as he leaned on the table. "Lots of the agents have always suspected that something went on between them before she left. They grew up together, after all. They must have gotten close during that time."

Vermouth's lip curled in disgust, and whether she would admit it or not, it was in jealousy as well. She had never understood the attraction for that child. And not just any child---the daughter of Hell's Angel, Helene. Vermouth hated Helene. Oh! She hated the scientist so much. And of course, Sherry had followed in her mother's footsteps, carrying on the same research. The fact that Vermouth could see that Gin loved Sherry only made the blonde woman loathe the redhead all the more. Why had Gin chosen her? He could have had anyone he wanted. He could have picked someone better suited to him, someone with more experience and more maturity.

She knew that Sherry was more mature at her age than many, and that she was often mistaken for someone in her twenties, but Vermouth chose not to dwell on that---or on the fact that Gin and Sherry had always gotten along with ease, their personalities easily meshing together. But those thoughts came to her anyway, much to her annoyance and anger.

"I know they've suspected it," Brandy answered, drawing her back to the current conversation. "But I never did. Gin doesn't get close to people. He only looks out for himself." He poured himself a goblet of wine. "That's what I thought, anyway, until I saw him protecting Vodka that time. And then I heard what your brother said about Gin protecting that kid. That's how he and Sherry found each other again, wasn't it?"

"That's right. They were independently trying to find the little girl." Vermouth could almost hear the wheels turning in Jenever's head. "My point is, since he seems to be so unable to end Sherry's life, maybe we could use that to our advantage. If that person happened to find out about their last encounter, along with some actual proof of it, that would definitely put Gin in a bad situation. Not to mention Vodka. They could both be killed." A pause as he sipped his own drink---which was probably non-alcoholic, knowing him. Jenever, ironically, considering his codename and that of the other Black Organization operatives, did not consume liquor.

"You'd be perfectly happy to take over Gin's old position, wouldn't you, if it went up for grabs?" he continued now.

"Of course. I'm more deserving of it than him. I wouldn't have any qualms about ending the life of a target, even if that target was a former lover." Brandy laughed. "Maybe especially then. Gin was supposed to feel the same way. He's a pretty vindictive person, not unlike myself. I've never let go of the grudge I've held against him since we were kids and he was the favored one." He leaned back. "And I've always hated that idiot partner of his, as I know you do."

"Have they even came back yet from that mission they were on tonight?" Jenever asked lazily.

Vermouth frowned. Actually, now that they mentioned it, she did not remember seeing that they had checked in. The snow was quite bad, the last time she had looked. Maybe they had been forced to go elsewhere for the night. The Porsche was not made for traveling in such weather. Maybe they had even ended up in a wreck, despite Gin's careful driving. Perhaps, she decided with a smirk, it was time to bother those two again.

After having her drink, Vermouth quickly departed the bar and went to the suite she used when on the base. Being that person's favorite, and having been the famous actress Chris Vineyard before going into hiding, she had the luxury of owning several places of residence, between which she altered her time. Tonight, with all the snow, she had opted to simply remain at the base. It would be cosy on this winter's night.

As she sank onto a comfortable couch, she drew out her cellphone and dialed Gin's number, smirking as she did so. He would not be pleased to hear from her, especially in the middle of the night, but he would just have to deal with it. She would tell him that she just needed to check and make sure that he was still alive. After all, if he was dead, who would she tease? The others were simply not as much fun.

But maybe he would not answer at all, she mused as it rang for the fourth time. He might be asleep, ignoring her, or . . . no, he would not be hurt. That stubborn jackass was most likely fine, wherever he happened to be at the moment.

_Click._ "What is it, Vermouth?"

She relaxed further into the couch, amusement spreading across her features at his cold, put-out voice. Yes, that was definitely the Gin she knew. He was alright. "Why, Gin, aren't you glad to hear from me?" she answered with a mock pout.

"Not at three in the morning."

"Oh, it's only two forty-five," she said smoothly. "Anyway, with the storm, I decided to call and check on you, because I don't remember seeing that you and Vodka checked in."

"We didn't." Was it her imagination, or did Gin's voice have a bit of an edge? He sounded especially abrupt tonight. Usually he seemed completely indifferent.

"I'm sorry, Gin, were you in the middle of something?" she purred, tucking her legs under her as she spread an arm across the length of the couch's top. "I do hope you haven't been making martini with someone!" she added in playful horror.

Gin grunted. "It wouldn't be any of your business," he responded flatly.

"Ouch," Vermouth smiled.

"Vodka and I had to get a hotel room for the night," Gin said then, ignoring that comment. "There's no way we can get back to the base in all the snow."

"Well, that's what I'd figured," Vermouth replied, unruffled. She paused, thinking back to the conversation in the bar. "By the way, Gin," she said, "you haven't had any luck finding the little kitty that got away? It's been a while since I've heard you say anything about her."

Complete silence reigned on the other side of the phone, and Vermouth had to wonder if she had hit a nerve. After what happened two weeks previous, Gin probably was very unreceptive to questions about Sherry. Or . . . could his silence be for another reason? Vermouth's eyes darkened at the thought. What if he had known for these two weeks where Sherry was, and now she was with him? Unconsciously she clenched a fist.

"No," the blonde snapped at last. "I haven't seen her at all."

"Really?" Vermouth exclaimed. "Why, that isn't what some people say."

She could feel, even over the phone, that Gin had just become extremely tense. "What do they say?" he growled.

"Only that you found her two weeks ago, and that instead of killing her, you kissed her," Vermouth smirked. To an ordinary passer-by, she would not have sounded unusual. But Gin could hear the venom in her voice. Those rumors made her angry, even furious. And though he knew about Vermouth's hatred of Sherry, he did not know the full reasoning behind it, nor did he especially want to know. It was some women's grudge, something unrelated to him, or so he thought.

"I didn't know you bought into gossip, Vermouth," he responded. "But I couldn't care less, as long as you don't bother me about it." A pause, as he flung the cigarette out of his hand and into the snow. "It's late, and I have a long drive tomorrow through the snow," he said pointedly. "I'm going to hang up."

"Didn't you know it's rude to get off when you're not the one who called?" Vermouth said nonchalantly.

"It's also rude to keep someone on the phone making small talk in the middle of the night." With that, there was another click, and she knew Gin had terminated the conversation.

She leaned back, looking across the room at the picture of Sherry she had posted on her wall as a dartboard. Ordinarily Gin's behavior would not make her bat an eye. He was almost always cold and curt with her, especially if she bothered him when he was exhausted. But in light of his reaction to what she had said about the chemist, and the fact that he had not denied the claims, she was filled with the suspicion that perhaps Sherry had something to do with his anxiousness to end the conversation.

She narrowed her eyes at the picture of the redhead, wishing that once and for all, she would not just be throwing darts at a mere photograph.

* * *

Gin glared at his phone as he closed it, and gripped it tightly in his fist. Vermouth calling at this time of night did not surprise him, under the circumstances. She often did call during situations when Gin and Vodka did not check in and did not call to explain their absence. But it seemed too strange for her to bring up Sherry right at this point. Did she know? Could she know? He growled under his breath. There was not any way she could know!

He shoved the device back in his pocket, giving the snow a dark look before turning to go back inside. The only way she could know was if she or someone else was spying on them. Had he truly come under suspicion? He had not been aware that his conduct was anything out of the ordinary. Unless someone knew about him trying to save that Ayumi child, or about his and Sherry's meeting at the docks. . . . That could be disastrous. He knew that rumors about the girl had been circulating, but nothing should be known about what happened two weeks ago.

Muttering to himself, he hauled open the heavy door and passed through the opening, letting it ease shut behind him. He could not help wondering if they were truly safe where they were. And yet there was nothing that could be done at least until morning.

The room was quiet when he got back to it and opened the door. He made certain to lock it as he came in, more to guard them against outside sources rather than anything else. Then he stood back, casting his gaze around the space. The lights had been dimmed, and the beautiful, injured form of the young woman was the only other presence in the room. She was curled up on the couch, resting her head against one of the stylish, deep blue pillows that matched the plush furniture's covering. Her white skin and nightgown were accentuated by the dark colors around and under her, and to Gin it made her look all the more beautiful.

Quietly the blonde moved forward, walking with haste towards the couch. He knelt down on the floor in front of it, gazing at her with an expression that encompassed many emotions. He hated her . . . but he loved her. She still haunted him every day, no matter how he would deny it. She was in his thoughts. She watched him from behind, but when he would turn, she would not be there. But she was here now. And he would not let her go again, no matter what it did to him.

Slowly he pulled off his gloves, setting them aside as he reached out to touch her perfect skin. He ran his fingers over her hand, thinking how smooth and how pure it felt. And yet, she had been a criminal, as he still was. She had sinned many times, and she was not pure in that sense. Her hands had made many drugs and poisons for the Organization. But he wondered what had happened to her while she had been gone. There was something different about her, and though he could not pinpoint exactly what it was, he knew it was there.

"Bro?"

Gin started at the quiet voice, and turned with narrowed eyes to his loyal partner, who had apparently slipped into the room while Gin had been preoccupied. Vodka looked hesitant and nervous, even moreso when he saw the scene before him.

"What do you want?" Gin growled.

Vodka shrugged helplessly. "I . . . I heard someone come in, and I wanted to make sure it was you," he answered, shifting his weight.

Gin grunted, slowly pulling himself to his feet. He walked around Vodka and into the bedroom, knowing that the stout man would follow. They could talk in there without disturbing Sherry. She needed her rest, especially after the accident.

Once Vodka was inside as well, Gin shut the door and leaned against it, studying the shorter man with a piercing gaze. He never spoke, instead reaching into his pocket for the cigarettes. As he placed one in his mouth and lit it, he continued to look at the other expectantly. It was obvious that Vodka wanted to say something, judging from his anxious shifting and the way he kept looking to Gin. He simply was not certain how to voice whatever was on his mind. But if he wanted to say it badly enough, he would determine how to do so.

"Bro . . . is this really what you want?"

Gin started, somewhat surprised at Vodka's sudden attempt at conversation, but not at the topic. This had been bothering Vodka ever since Gin had taken Sherry into his arms at the accident site. But for the other to speak up about it meant that it must be particularly disturbing to him. It always took a lot of courage for Vodka to question any of Gin's decisions, and even as shortly ago as a year, he would not have dared. Gin always abhorred being queried that way, but he respected Vodka more for doing so when Vodka felt that concerned.

Now Gin looked up at his partner through blonde bangs. "What do you think?" he retorted.

Vodka opened his mouth and then shut it again, hating being put on the spot like this. He wanted to ask why Gin would ask that of him, but he did not. Desperately his gaze darted around the room, every now and then going to Gin as he tried to put together what he wanted to say. The words were in his mind, and there they came out coherently and logically, but when he tried to give voice to them, he stuttered and stammered over them. He clenched a fist. He could never speak properly when it counted.

"I think . . ." Vodka shifted again. "I think you really want her here with you, bro . . . even though you know what could happen. You're just so desperate that right now you don't care." _But I do!_ he cried silently. He could not bear to see Gin throw his life away to be with Sherry, when they knew it could not last. Sometimes he wished that he could break her inadvertant hold over his partner. He longed to be able to do so, to release Gin from his unhealthy obsession. But that was beyond his power.

Gin nodded slowly. "You know," he mused suddenly, "there are rare occasions when those in charge call a lower-level agent into their office and request him to spy on his partner." He watched Vodka, seeing the other's expression change to shock. "It only happens when they're extremely concerned about the more highly-ranked agent's behavior."

Vodka bit his lip. Did Gin think Vodka was spying on him? Or was he saying this for a different reason? Gin would never say something if he did not have some sort of idea behind it. "Did that happen to you?" he asked finally. He could imagine the blonde being tested in such a way, before gaining the high position that he now held. Gin was so determined to hate traitors that it would make sense for them to have had him observe a suspicious, previous partner.

"That's irrelevant," Gin said flatly. "If word gets back to the base about what's happened here tonight, someone may call you on your phone and order you to spy on me." He wondered if Vodka had ever considered the possibility, but he doubted it. He himself had just thought of it a moment before, as he had been coming inside the building. It sounded absurd to him, but not impossible. His actions could definitely be that much of a concern. And he knew that the leaders of the Black Organization must be aware that Vodka was not stupid. Careless, yes, but intelligent. And it was possible that they might decide to try to rely on him if they wanted Gin watched. Who better than Vodka to do it, after all, since he was with Gin most of the time. It would be a test of Vodka's overall devotion to the Organization, as well.

Vodka looked at Gin helplessly, his mind racing. He could not even imagine betraying his partner's trust in that way, even if it was an order. It had taken him years to earn as much of the blonde's respect as he had, and as he thought about it, he knew that he did not want to throw that away. Perhaps Gin would not blame him even if he did. Perhaps, in Gin's twisted mind, he would gain more respect for Vodka, for following such a difficult order. Still, Gin did not consider himself to be a traitor. And, when it came right down to it, he could not betray Sherry. Gin, Vodka decided, would understand if Vodka could not betray him, even to the Organization. In some part of that dark mind, maybe he would even hope that Vodka would not turn against him, no matter how much he would deny such a thing.

"I don't think I could do it, bro," he said then.

Gin looked at him for a long moment, as if searching behind the dark glasses that framed Vodka's face. But then the green-eyed man nodded, and Vodka had the feeling that Gin had known all along what Vodka's reply would be.

"They might kill you," he pointed out. "If not for that reason, they would do it because of your involvement in what's happened here tonight."

"I know. . . ." Vodka idly glanced out the window at the large flakes. The snow seemed determined to keep falling. That was good for them, he supposed. If they could not get out, enemies could not get in. Unless enemies were already there. . . . He shuddered at the thought, despite feeling sure that they had not been followed.

"And you're willing to accept that, and stay with me?"

Vodka nodded. He would not betray Gin. He would never betray Gin. He would try to think of a way out of their predicament, even though he was certain that he would not ever be able to. He always came back to the same solutions which were not actually solutions at all. And he badly wanted for Gin to be happy. But happiness was something that they could never have, in the Black Organization. It slipped away from them. He wondered if Sherry had been happy when she had been away, or if she had lived in constant fear of being found.

"Why?"

Again Vodka opened his mouth, intending to try to answer the blonde, but this time nothing would come. And he could tell that this time, it would not, no matter how much he thought about it. He shook his head. "I don't know how to put it in words, bro. . . ."

Gin did not seem bothered. He grinned now, puffing on the cigarette. "Ah, Vodka . . . we're both fools," he pronounced.

Vodka blinked at his partner, surprised at the sudden, casual way in which he said it. Gin's nonchalant attitudes were much more difficult to understand and decipher than his cold-hearted moods had ever been. Vodka was used to those. He could easily tell when Gin was calm, or unhappy, or angry, when the green-eyed man opted for his usual down-to-earth persona. But the facade of morbid amusement was bewildering. He wondered what to say in reply, or if he should say anything at all.

Apparently, Gin did not think so. Calmly he ground the remainder of his cigarette into the ashtray and then turned, opening the door and heading back to Sherry. Vodka watched him, allowing himself a small sigh as he slumped back. He was afraid that Sherry did not love the blonde any longer, and he was certain that Gin would only be hurt if he continued down this path. But that was something else that he could not say right now.

* * *

Ran stood by the window, gazing out at the flakes that were blanketing all of Beika City, and Tokyo in general, in a thick layer of white. It was a beautiful sight, but as she pressed herself against the glass to watch, she could not help but feel somewhat melancholy.

Shinichi was finally back, but it seemed to her that since then, they had not spent much time together at all. He never seemed to give a real reason for it, instead just throwing that line at her about always having new cases to work on. It understandably frustrated her, and she wondered if this was how it would always go---with her being second to Shinichi's hobby.

He had tried to be there for her, such as when there had been that bomb and when she had been forced to fly that plane. He had guided her through all of it, but then was gone again, vanishing into the night. She had thought at least he would have stayed around after the bomb incident, to make sure she was alright. How had he gotten out of that building so fast, and then completely vanished? The only one who had seen him had been Conan. Strange, how it always worked that way.

She frowned, crossing the room to the telephone. It was late, but knowing Shinichi, there was still a chance that he might be awake. She could easily imagine him sitting in his father's office, poring over the facts of some new case and having entirely forgotten how late it had become. A small smile of fond amusement came over her features as she carefully picked up the receiver and dialed his number, then walked back to the window as it rang. He was always so absent-minded when he got involved with something. She still had not even been able to get him to remember his birthday.

"Hello?"

She was not surprised to hear that Shinichi sounded completely awake. He also sounded hopeful, as if he had been wanting a particular person to be on the other end of the line. Someone connected with his case, she supposed. "Shinichi . . . I just thought I'd call," she smiled softly, and hoped that he was not disappointed that she was calling instead of whoever he was waiting for. "The snow outside looks so pretty."

"Huh? Oh . . . yeah, it does. . . ."

She sighed. "What's going on, Shinichi? Another case?" She leaned against the side of the window. "I was hoping maybe we could do something tomorrow. . . ."

"Well, we can't if neither of us can get any sleep." Shinichi rubbed his eyes tiredly. If anything, the snow had gotten worse since Dr. Agasa had come over to tell him about Shiho. They were at the Professor's home, having both stayed up in hopes of either some news from her or else for the storm to calm down enough that they could go looking---but neither was happening. While he knew it was probably pointless to not go to sleep, he was not certain that he even could.

"I'm sure you'll be able to figure out the mystery a lot better if you get some sleep," Ran said firmly. "You're probably too tired to think clearly." She did not ask him what the case was about. Usually he did not or could not talk about the details, and she imagined that she would be just as happy to not know. He may have gotten used to crime scenes and criminals, but she had never been able to do so.

"Yeah, you're right. . . ." He paused, actually thinking over her earlier words. "What would you like to do tomorrow, Ran?" he asked, and then regretted it. There was the chance that they would not be able to do anything because of the snow, but if it did stop, he knew he needed to look for Shiho. Still, he also knew that he had been largely avoiding Ran, and that it was unfair to her. He wished that he could figure out how to do everything.

"Oh, I don't know. . . . Something. _Anything. . . ._" Again she looked sadly out at the white. "I just want to see you, Shinichi!" She wanted to add that she wanted to be first, at least once, but she did not. As usual, she wanted to be fair to Shinichi, and failed to think about being fair to herself. What was more, she supposed, she wanted Shinichi to realize that he had always been putting his cases first, without her having to tell him.

Shinichi smiled a bit. "Yeah. . . . I want to see you too, Ran," he answered. "I'll tell you what. If the weather has cleared up any by tomorrow, I'll call you and we'll see what we can do." Ran did not know about Shiho. Neither of them had been quite sure how to tell Ran, as it was very obvious from looking at Shiho that she was Ai Haibara. And even if they were able to come up with a thin disguise, he was certain that Ran would find it odd that Shinichi and that Shiho woman both appeared at the same ime that Conan and Ai had vanished. And what if Ran thought that Shinichi had been dating Shiho? Shinichi shut his eyes tightly, sick at the thought. That would be a disaster.

"Okay!" Ran's voice was brighter now, and hopeful. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, Shinichi." Then she glowered at the phone. "And you should try to get _some_ sleep!" she exclaimed.

Shinichi winced, holding the phone away from his ear. "I will, I will," he assured her, and then bid her goodbye. As he folded up his cellphone, he slumped against the wall with a weary sigh.

"You have to stop lying to her, Shinichi. . . ."

He looked over at Dr. Agasa, feeling a wave of frustration over that truth. "I know," he muttered. He did not voice the rest of his thoughts, but he worried that when he finally did tell her, he would lose her for sure. And maybe he would even deserve it. Maybe Ran deserved someone better than him.

But then he glared at the wall. No, he and Ran could work through this. His time as Conan had made him think over many things, especially how much he truly cared about Ran. He did know that in the past, when he had first achieved success as a detective, he had become prideful and self-centered and had not put her first. He would give anything now to be able to do so. But before he and Ran could really have a peaceful future together, the Black Organization had to be brought down.

And Shiho had to be found, as well. Shinichi clenched a fist. Was she even still alive? There was not any way of knowing, especially if it was as he feared and Gin had found her. It was a possibility that could not be ignored. But he could not even begin to know where to look for her, if she was in the clutches of that madman.

* * *

For the second time that night, Sherry found herself waking up in the company of the green-eyed man whom she both feared and hated. She had earlier sensed his cold, dark, and commanding presence in her semi-aware condition, but she had been too tired to force herself awake. Now she felt him there again, and this time she managed to pry her eyes open. She could see him there, in the dim light of the room, as he stood looking out the window at the furiously swirling snow. He seemed passive, even thoughtful, and she wondered what was going through his mind.

She smirked a bit through the fog that was still passing over her own mind, and snuggled into the softness of the couch and the pillow. This was such a strange situation. Gin had tried to kill her before, but now he did not seem as though he would inflict harm upon her. She had not even been locked in the bedroom, unless that had been a mistake. But Vodka had not seemed surprised to see her, and she doubted Gin would forget to lock the door if that was his intention. Was the idea to give her the illusion of freedom? She was fairly sure that she would not be able to leave the suite itself. Yet even if she did, where would she go?

Gin could feel her gaze upon him---those serious, penetrating, blue eyes that had intrigued him for years as they had displayed love, hate, sadness, even dark amusement and indecision. He wondered what she was thinking as she studied him. Did she still try to tell herself that she wanted to kill him? Had she been forced to admit that it was not true, but was still unwilling to admit that she loved him? He was certain that she did still love him. He could feel that from her, too. Some part of her liked being here, a part that she was struggling to silence. After all, how could she actually still care about a man who had hurt her so deeply? That was what she tried to tell herself.

Gin narrowed his eyes, her words from earlier that evening finding him again. Her betrayal had cut him sharply, more than he would ever admit. He had believed that she would understand his reasons behind what he had done to Akemi. But instead she had despised him, loathed him, and she had left him and the Black Organization to attempt to start anew. It was foolish of her, when she knew that he would always find her. She would never be able to live in peace. And anyway . . . if he did not find her, someone else might, someone who would kill her instantly---as he himself was supposed to.

"Are you thinking of how you can torture me next?"

He turned at her words. She was sitting up, hugging the pillow in her arms as she smirked dryly at him.

He grinned, but did not make a move to go to her. "Maybe," he answered. "But then, you don't really mind, do you."

For a moment her expression faltered, and she seemed to be thinking of some of their exchanges in the past. At one point, when their relationship had started to crumble, he had tried to reassure her that he still loved her. He had shown her more affection than he frequently had done, caressing and kissing her. She had melted into his arms then, accusing him of "torturing her sweetly." But she had not actually wanted to leave him then. He had reminded her of that.

Then her eyes hardened and her lips pressed in a straight line. "Maybe," she said slowly, "you're really torturing yourself. Obviously you want me with you, for whatever twisted reason going through your head. But you can't have me. I won't stay with you, and no matter how hard you try to hold on, I'll slip out of your grasp. I have another life now, one that doesn't involve you or the Black Organization, and I'm going back to it."

The grin did not leave. "I doubt you've really been able to enjoy this other life of yours," he replied. "You've always had to live in fear of being found by me or someone else. You knew when you left that the Organization would never let you go." He watched her carefully. "Is that the life you want?"

She set the pillow aside, flickers of pain and sorrow going through her eyes. She knew Gin was right. If she returned to the Professor's house now, Gin would certainly find her. She would be endangering everyone even more than before. The only real solution would be to run away, far away, and live alone. But she felt her blood run chill at the thought. She did not want to be alone, not after everything she had experienced with Kudo. She longed, she needed, to be with people. But she did not want to be with this person. She could not kill him, but she still hated him.

"You know I'll find you, wherever you go." He stepped closer, and as she looked up, he reached her side. Quickly he placed a hand under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. She shivered from his touch, and instantly her hands went to his arm as she tried to pull it away. But she froze at his next words. "If anyone else had found you, you'd already be dead."

She could not help but think that Vermouth did, indeed, know---but had done nothing about it. Of course she could not say anything about that, but she looked up into Gin's dark eyes, trying to find the answers there. "Why?" she asked quietly. Why had he not killed her? Why was she here with him? Why did he want her? Why, why, _why?_

Gin's expression hardened. "Because you're mine," he growled. "I won't let you go." Letting go of her jaw, he swept her into his arms, clutching her close to his chest. He could feel her heart racing from stunned shock, and as he brought a hand into her hair, drawing her closer, he felt her hands upon his arms again. She pulled desperately, trying in vain to get out of his grasp, but then stopped, doing nothing else. Had she decided it was useless to struggle, or did she want Gin to hold her? Did she still allow herself to remember how it had felt, and how she had enjoyed his touch? Perhaps it was some of both, though he knew that she would not give up easily if she wanted him to release her. Perhaps she thought that if she played along, it would be easier to get away.

"If you really loved me, you'd let me go." He heard her voice, muffled as she buried her face against his shoulder. She remembered. She still wanted to be with him, and to love him. There was a fine line between love and hate, and she was teetering on the edge of it, trying to keep her balance. The smallest tug on that line would cause her to tumble off, one way or another.

He held her tighter. "I'm not that good of a person," he said, breathing in her scent. He could not let her go again. If he did, he knew he would never see her afterwards. She would be lost to him. And he was not strong enough to deal with that. He was weak, he knew he was weak, but he did not know how to be any different. He did not know how to train himself to not want her. It seemed an impossible task.

She was silent for a moment. "At least you're good enough to admit it," she murmured.

He grunted, feeling her starting to relax into his embrace. "If you really hated me, you wouldn't have stopped fighting against me," he observed.

She did not answer. But she did not try again to pull away, either.


	4. Don't Look Back

**Chapter Three**

_The sights and sounds of death were everywhere. Flashing lights from the ambulance and the police cars painted colors on the road, the vehicles, the people gathered around, and the sides of the nearby buildings. Most of the worst parts of the crash had been cleaned up by that time, but she could still see the medical examiner inspecting one of the bodies. A limp and bloodied hand was all that she could make out from her location, and even as she gave a small shudder, a sense of morbid curiosity came over her._

_She wondered what the rest of the form looked like, and what the person had died from---the crash itself, or injuries that could have been treated? Would the person still be alive if help had gotten there sooner? She wondered if something like that could or would ever happen to her or someone she loved---not that she had many such people. But the ones she did have were all the more dear of her because of it._

_Did the victims of the crash have people who would care about them, too?_

_Right by the corner where she was walking, she could see a scuffed and torn shoe, which had apparently landed there after the impact. She gazed at it for a moment, her thoughts turning over each other. Had it belonged to the body that was now being wheeled away, or one of the others? If it was the property of someone who had been taken to the hospital, would they wonder about it---if they recovered enough to be able to do so? Or maybe she was wrong and it had been there before, lost by a careless child on the way home from school._

_She was often told that she was serious for her age, and people were both surprised and disturbed by it. Sometimes they would make jokes about her really being an adult in a child's body, and she would simply stand there, giving them a pokerface. Of course, they could never understand that she was being raised in a very serious, adult environment. It seemed that everyone wanted her to grow up too fast, except for Enok. He was her protector and her near-constant companion, and though he was eight years her senior, they were very close._

_He had told her that outside of school, she should not call him "Enok" any longer. He was no longer that person, he said. He was being trained to be someone else. The Black Organization wanted a Gin, not an Enok. And she had said that he was still Enok to her._

She started, her eyes flying open as she did so. Everything seemed so quiet now, unlike a moment before. She lay where she was, gazing up at the white ceiling. What had happened to the shoe, the vehicles, the paramedics---the accident? Now they were all gone, and she was not even outside any longer. As she slowly adjusted to the scene around her, she realized that she was laying amid soft, white, and comfortable sheets and a matching comforter, with red trim. She was back in her bed at the hotel, not on the couch or even wandering down a lonely street witnessing an accident.

She could not remember how she had gotten back there. Gin had brought her, she supposed. The last thing she coherently remembered was him holding her. Had she fallen asleep in his arms? She frowned. That seemed unlikely. She could never again relax to that extent around him. If she had, she must have been hurt worse in the accident than she thought.

It seemed strange, to be dreaming about her childhood---if it could be called as such. She was no longer the little girl in that dream, though she was still serious. And she no longer thought of Gin as Enok. He was Gin, just as he had wanted her to call him. She could not imagine calling him anything else, anymore.

She smirked wryly to herself. It might be easy for her to determine what to call Gin, but when it came to herself, it was quite another matter. She had been living under aliases for so long, and using other personalities, that now she was no longer certain of who she was. Was she still Sherry, the dark and sadistic chemist for the Black Organization? She did not feel as though she was still in that part of her life, and yet it seemed that she could never escape from it. She was certainly not the strange little girl Ai Haibara now, and as for Shiho Miyano . . . who was she? Was Shiho only the girl before either of the other two had came along, or was Shiho all of them together? Or was she someone different entirely?

She knew that each persona she had taken on through the years held part of herself. But she was unsure of what name she should use. Gin seemed determined to call her Sherry, and while she did not like being called by that moniker, it did not seem to her that either of the others were exactly appropriate either. Maybe it was time for yet another, to mark another turning point in her life---though, what that turning point was, she still did not know. There was no telling how long she would be here, with Gin and Vodka, and she knew returning to Beika was out of the question. She hated the thought of going off somewhere alone again, but it was really the only choice she had. If she could get away from here, she would have to go elsewhere to start again.

It was odd---she was certain that Gin would not hurt her, and yet that was precisely why she did not feel safe around him. Inwardly, she knew that she did not trust her own feelings. She was weak, to still feel for him as she had in the past. She could not allow it to continue, but as long as she was with him, she knew that it would. Knowing, and then seeing, his apparent concern for Ayumi Yoshida had seriously weakened her resolve about him to begin with, and during her encounter with him at the docks, she had been too confused to know what to make of it. She had threatened to kill him, but had not been able to. Of course, he had kissed her to make it all the more perplexing. And in that state of mind, she had now met up with him again, almost as if it had been supposed to happen. Not that she believed in such things, and even if she did, she could not imagine that this misadventure was intentional. If so, whoever was controlling fate must have a sick sense of humor.

Gin did not want to let her go, and she was afraid that with her current mixed feelings, he would again "torture her sweetly" and bend her will to his. She was afraid that she would entirely lose her resolve, and find herself wanting to stay with him in spite of herself.

Without warning the door was flung open, and she looked up in surprise. Gin was standing there, gripping the knob in a way that she could see meant he was feeling distressed. His expression was grim, his jaw set, his eyes narrowed and filled with something she interpreted to mean that there was approaching danger.

Quickly she sat up, regarding him with an equally serious expression. "What is it?" she demanded.

He looked at her, the urgency obvious in his eyes. "There's another Black Organization operative in this building," he announced darkly.

She stared at him, feeling fear grip her heart. Another one? Why? Could that truly be a coincidence? Maybe they had been followed. Could someone have known what Gin's plan was? He would never have said, but perhaps someone like Vermouth would have figured it out. Vermouth had often had the uncanny knack of being able to determine what Gin was going to do, but that fact had usually not bothered her much. She gripped a handful of quilt.

"Who is it?" she asked, searching the other's eyes for any hint that would lead her to the truth. She dreaded the answer. Would he have said if it was Vermouth? And whoever it was, how had he learned of the other's presence? Had he been threatened?

He left the door open as he advanced further into the room. "It's Cognac," he growled. "You remember him, don't you? One of the explosion specialists."

She swallowed hard. She remembered. He delighted in his work, almost to the point where he was an obsessed fanatic. But would they send an explosion specialist after Gin? She frowned. "How did you learn he's here?"

"Vodka saw him when he went downstairs to get more cigarettes." Gin walked past her to the glass doors, brushing aside the sheer, lace curtain to look out onto the balcony. Apparently not finding anything unusual, he let the cloth fall back into place as he turned around again to face her.

"Was Vodka seen by him?" She started to move back the covers. It was doubtful that she could sleep any more right now, and at any rate, she certainly did not want to. They were not safe here, just as she had feared. The Black Organization always seemed to end up where she was located. She must be cursed, she thought dryly. And if Gin continued to do as he was doing now, he would share in that curse.

"Vodka doesn't think he was," Gin grunted, "but who knows." Vodka was not extremely skilled at being stealthy to begin with, and when he had not been thinking that he needed to be overly cautious in the hotel, he most likely had not been. But in their favor, Cognac had been talking to the desk clerk, and had seemed quite occupied with that. Perhaps he truly would not have noticed the heavyset man going past him.

She sighed. "Could he be after us?" she asked. The thought was obviously in Gin's mind as well. Being as highly ranked as he was, he generally knew the locations of the other Tokyo agents when they were out on assignments. Of course, it was late now, and if Cognac had simply gotten stranded for the night, Gin would not necessarily have heard about that. But he also would not have got the memo if Cognac had been sent out to eliminate him.

"Yes, he could be," Gin answered slowly. From the tone of his voice, she could tell that there was something else on his mind.

Her eyes narrowed further. "What is it?" She watched him walk away from the doors and past the bed again, his coat sweeping out behind him.

He stopped, staring out the door into the room beyond. "He could have tracked a different target here," he said. "Or maybe the hotel itself has something it shouldn't, such as information about the Organization in its computer system. If some smartass decided to try hacking into our computers, who knows what would happen." It could be a repeat of the Countdown to Heaven all over again, only this time, without Gin being in control of it. He hated the thought, especially when he had Sherry here with him.

Suddenly she felt alarmed for another reason. An uneasy feeling was forming in the pit of her stomach, and her suspicions of what was going on were only increasing. She started to push herself off the bed. Even with the snow, they needed to get out of there---now. They should not stay there overnight, not with another Black Organization operative in the building---and an explosion specialist at that. Perhaps she was just being paranoid, but she did not want to take a chance. And the blonde seemed to have ideas similar to hers. She looked to Gin, her eyes narrowed darkly. "You mean . . ."

She never did finish her sentence. A cacophony of sound ripped through the floors beneath them, and its source seemed almost to take hold of the entire hotel and rock it violently. She fell back onto the bed with a gasp, watching the lights flicker dangerously. Gin fell forward, barely managing to catch himself on the footboard. The furniture trembled and vibrated, but then as soon as it started, it stopped, leaving everything in a too-deathly silence.

Gin looked over at her grimly. "Yes," he said flatly. "I do mean that."

The sound of frantic running met their ears then, and Vodka dashed to the doorway, gripping it as he breathed heavily. "Bro!" he gasped, looking to his partner. "The hotel---they're blowing it up!"

Gin straightened his body, glancing to Vodka before turning and reaching for Shiho. "I know," he growled. "There's probably bombs every few floors or so. We have to get out before all of them go off."

She brushed the strong hands away as she again started to stand. "I can manage on my own," she said firmly, though she actually did have to wonder. She had managed to walk into the living room a while ago, but that was much different than trying to escape a hotel under attack. And now that she thought of it, how could she leave the suite dressed as she currently was? She looked to Gin. "Where are my clothes?" she demanded.

He grunted. "You wouldn't be able to wear them," he replied. "They're bloodstained and wet from the snow. And we don't have time for you to change, anyway."

She gazed down at herself incredulously as she stood. Gin was right, of course. They would have to leave before anything else happened. She was not sure whether it was her imagination, but it had almost sounded as though the building was groaning. She would not be surprised. And the next bombs could go off at any time.

"At least I need my boots," she declared.

Gin was about to respond when another explosion rocked the building, more powerful than the first. Shiho gave a startled cry as she lost her balance, tumbling into Gin's arms. The blonde stumbled back, clutching her tightly as he bumped into the dresser. Vodka grabbed more desperately onto the doorframe, planting his feet on the floor as the room shuddered violently. Again the lights flickered, the glow becoming first dim and then very bright. It remained that way for a brief moment, as if hesitating, and then went out, plunging the room into darkness.

Gin gave a harsh curse as his eyes began to adjust. The only light was coming through the glass doors outside, and it fell dimly on the walls, furniture, and floor, and on Sherry's white face. She was subconsciously gripping at him, perhaps as she tried to regain her footing, perhaps out of shock and fear. At the moment he did not care which. His main priority now was to escape with her, and Vodka, alive.

Without warning he reached down, getting a hand under her knees as he lifted her up. Her eyes widened in utter disbelief. "There isn't time to get your boots, either," he growled, walking past Vodka as he exited the bedroom. The heavyset man watched him for a moment before following.

"Bro . . . will we even be able to get out at all?" he asked, swallowing hard. Suddenly death was a very real possibility. And though he had imagined that it would come soon, he realized now that he was very unprepared for it. Nor had he imagined this scenario in the slightest. He had thought death might come from a shootout, not an explosion. And this explosion might not even be directed at them. They may have become entangled in a plot that did not relate to them in the slightest, save for the fact that now they might be killed by it. It was quite unsettling.

Gin arrived at the front door, and balanced Sherry as he opened it. He studied the hall with narrowed eyes, watching the frantic people run from their rooms towards the stairwells. Several were foolish enough to try the elevator, but it seemed to already be out of order, judging from the way that they repeatedly and desperately pressed the Down button without success. "This floor hasn't been affected yet," he reported. "There's no telling what the ones below us will look like, but we're going to have to try." Undoubtedly some of the levels would be damaged from the bombs. A lot of people might become trapped in the building with no way out, and Gin did not intend to let that happen to them.

Overhead, the lights began to flicker again as the generators activated. Gin only glanced up at them briefly before stepping out into the hall. He did not bother to look back and see if Vodka was behind him. He knew that the other would be.

"What if the parking garage has been bombed?" Sherry spoke, looking up at him. He could tell that she was very unhappy with her current situation, but she would have to deal with it. Even if she was not seriously hurt from the car accident, it was not likely that she would be able to keep up with his and Vodka's pace, with her injuries. He fully intended to carry her all the way down and outside.

Now he did not answer. It was possible, but unlikely, if what Cognac wanted to hide was in the hotel itself. If Cognac had been after a specific person, however, Gin knew that the other might try to render any means of transportation unusable, just in case they escaped the current trap. But for now, they would have to think that the garage was still available to them. They needed that car as their escape. And Gin did not particularly want to see anything happen to it, for other reasons as well.

In a matter of a couple of minutes, the corridor had become a complete madhouse. As they tried to make their way to the nearest stairwell door, other people were constantly pushing and shoving against them as they also made the attempt. Gin could feel elbows poking into his sides, and up ahead he could see another person fall to the floor amid the commotion. It did not seem as though anyone noticed or cared about the incident, and the assassin held Sherry closer as he pushed his way through the chaos. That poor fool would be lucky if he was not completely trampled.

His eyes widened as he felt someone slam into him from behind. He stumbled forward, vaguely aware that he had stepped on someone's toes in the melee, but did not try to look back to see who had tumbled against him. He did not want to get distracted from the stairwell. It was just ahead now, and two women fumbled with the heavy handle for a long moment before finally noticing that they were supposed to push the door and not pull. Gin muttered to himself.

"Sorry, bro," he heard a voice mumble from behind him. Strong hands were laid on his shoulders, steadying him---and probably also in an attempt to steady the other. Vodka slowly walked out from behind the blonde, using his physical strength to force a path clear for them. He reached the door first, and pushed it open as Gin walked through. Then he quickly followed. The rest of the people could get the door for themselves.

Sherry kept quiet as Gin walked down the stairs. She was still not happy about being carried, and especially by Gin, for several reasons. But right now she supposed she had to be grateful that she did not have to walk. It would be almost impossible for her to do so, amid these maniacs. A crisis of this magnitude could instantly turn relatively sane people into a flailing, mindless mob---and it had. She would be willing to put up with it, of course, were it not for her injuries from earlier.

"You wouldn't be in this mess, if not for bringing me here," she remarked quietly.

Gin grunted. He could tell that she was saying it because she was hoping for an answer, but he did not have one to give. He could never have predicted this scenario. But in any case, he had known that having her with him would put him in danger as much as her. Did he have to explain all of his actions to her? It had used to be that she had known him well, and he had not had to speak in order for her to understand. They truly had grown distant. It seemed wrong, somehow.

They reached the next landing, and Vodka moved to allow Gin to get past first. The stout man was about to quickly follow suit when a small body slipped around his legs. Blinking, he looked down at the child's form. It was a boy of about seven, with sandy-colored hair and a white shirt with blue shorts. The hair's style was short and layered, but other than that, the child had an uncanny resemblance to Gin when he had been that age. It almost seemed eerie, and he glanced at Gin to see his reaction. Gin, however, did not seem to notice or care.

Sherry followed the boy's movements until he scurried around the corner out of sight. He could be heard jumping down the stairs two at a time, and she smiled slightly to herself. She doubted he really understood the danger he was in. To him, it must seem like a big adventure. Children were so innocent that way. Hopefully, this would just be a "big adventure" and not a big disaster.

She wondered what they would do when they got out of here. Would Gin try to find another hotel, or would she be able to convince him to let her go? That was unlikely. And what if Cognac was, indeed, blowing up the hotel because he was trying to kill them? There was not any way of actually knowing what he was thinking.

They passed the second landing from their floor. There was still quite a way to go to reach the bottom. And as Gin continued walking, some of the sounds that they had been hearing along the way began to change to voices---voices filled with frantic pain. She frowned, trying to listen.

"I can't move! I can't move! I'm trapped!"

It was a woman's panicked voice, and she was sobbing. It sounded like she was on the next floor, and there were other, indiscernible voices nearby, shouting apparent orders to each other on how to help her. It seemed that the hotel was already starting to come apart, and she was being held fast by a strong beam.

Sherry narrowed her eyes. There would not be much time to get the victim freed. Smoke from the fires was starting to drift into the stairwell, and she turned her head as a cough rose on her lips. Before her time with Kudo, she would have believed that getting herself out would be the most important thing. Now she found herself wondering if anyone trying to help the trapped woman had medical training. Would they know what to do if she had broken bones, or deep lacerations? Would they know how to treat her for shock, and how to move her without causing further injuries?

Without warning came the third explosion, more fierce than the first two. The entire stairwell shook and trembled, and in the enclosed space echoed the cracking of the walls. Plaster began to rain from the groaning ceiling, and someone screamed as part of a wooden beam crashed to the floor, exposing the electrical wiring in the widening space above.

Gin cursed as the force from the blast took his ability to stand. Clutching tighter to the woman in his arms, he fell backwards, slamming hard onto the metal stairs. Dazedly he stared up at the gaping hole in the ceiling. He could see another beam hanging precariously as more plaster and dust made its warning descent, and he knew the thing was about to fall. He reached down, pushing and holding Sherry's head against his chest as he rolled onto his side and out of the way. Behind him he could hear the deadly wood crashing to the stairs. Splinters became airborn, and Gin felt several of them bounce off his back before they fell lifeless across the floor.

He could feel Sherry's heart racing as she gripped at his coat and his arms. No matter what she claimed that her feelings for him were, the action around them, and her injuries, were forcing her to rely on him at least somewhat. He knew that she was probably not pleased, because of her independent personality as well as the awkward situation with Gin. She probably wanted more than anything to be released.

But he was pleased. He wanted her to fall into his embrace and to not resist. He wanted her to accept that she loved him and to not struggle to deny it any longer. But why? Why was that important to him?

Did he just want to have that power over her, the same way he had thought he wanted her to fear him? He had tried to convince himself that was the only reason. It would make sense. After all, he was beyond deeper feelings. He did not love. He did not care about people. But still, as he held her alarmed body close to him, feeling her winded breathing, he wondered if it was more than that.

He imagined her body cold and still, unresisting him not because she wanted him, but because of the sleep of death. She would never speak to him again, or argue with him, and he would never have the chance to win her back---if that was what he wanted. She would be beautiful in death as well as life, but there would not be any challenge then, no hope of finding her again. She would be lost to him. And in that moment, as he gazed down at her as she looked up at him, he knew with a firm and unwavering surety that he was going to keep her alive.

And it was not just because of a challenge, or because he wanted to torment her for her betrayal. He did not know what it was, only that he felt complete with her there. He did not just want her, he needed her. Was that love, or was it merely an obsession? Or had the obsession developed from love? He was not even sure any more. But he wanted to know. And he would never be able to find out if she was dead.

"Are you alright?" he asked now.

She nodded shakily, and paused. "Are you?" Her voice was slow, hesitant, uneasy. It seemed strange, to be asking him such a question---even moreso when she realized it was a sincere query.

"Fine." He rose up slightly, casting his gaze around the area. Where was Vodka? Was he safe? There were people all around them, yelling and crying, but Gin could not see his partner anywhere. He frowned in annoyance. It was foolish to worry. Vodka could take care of himself. He was fine.

"Bro?"

Gin turned slightly, moving half onto his back as he looked up. Vodka was standing on the steps above him, his sunglasses hanging half off his face. A bit of blood was coming from a cut over his right eye, but it did not look serious. He placed a hand on the wall, balancing himself as he came down the rest of the stairs and walked around Gin and Sherry to stand on the landing at their feet. He seemed alright, but worry for Gin flickered across his features.

Sherry released Gin now that the immediate danger had passed. She had been momentarily startled from the explosion and the ceiling caving in, but now she had control over her senses again. She wanted to get up, and she would have, if Gin was not still holding her as if he would never again let go. She took hold of his arms, trying to pry them away from her. "Let me go," she requested, looking to the green eyes with what she hoped was a firm, demanding expression. She was tired of being carried, and even though she was not feeling completely up to par, she wanted to walk on her own. If it had not done any other good, the explosion had jarred sense into her. She did not want Gin to hold her. She hated the memories it stirred.

Gin grunted as he slowly loosened his grip. It would be easier to get up right now if he was not holding onto her, and the crowds of people had seemed to have thinned out for the moment. Otherwise, he probably would not have complied. And in any case, he intended to take hold of her again. He was certain that she would soon realize that it would not be easy for her to maneuver her way through the hotel in her current state, even if the last thing she would do would be to admit that she needed Gin's help.

He watched as she took hold of the wall, using it to lean on as she guided her body into a standing position. She swayed for a moment when she let go, and quickly grabbed onto it again. Her gaze drifted to the debris-covered floor, and she carefully placed her bare feet where there were not splinters or other, larger parts of the ceiling's support structure.

Gin was then able to rise as well. He reached behind him, gathering his hair with one hand and brushing the unwelcome intruders out of it with the other. The smoke was getting to him more than he realized, and his eyes watered as he turned away, coughing. There was no telling how much of the building was damaged now, but the floors they had just come from were obviously in peril, as some of the smoke was coming into the stairwell from the hole above.

"Let's stop wasting time," he grumbled, walking past Vodka with a flourish. "There's no telling when it will be too late."

Sherry concurred. She followed him then, cautiously, and Vodka brought up the rear. The other people in the space were getting their bearings as well, and now they dazedly fell into place behind Vodka.

Gin stayed alert as they went down the next set of steps. He could feel pieces of wood and plaster crunching under his feet, and as they turned the next corner, he noticed that the glass around a fire extinguisher had cracked and shattered. Now it was laying in variously assorted fragments all over the floor, and on several of the stairs. He glared at the crystal as he reached for the object it had been protecting. Judging by the increasing smoke, they might need the extinguisher to get out of the building. He handed it to Vodka to carry.

"There's broken glass along here," he said gruffly to Sherry, only half-glancing back at her before continuing his pace. She would be able to see it as well as he could, so he would not lift her up again---yet. If she wanted to try to make it on her own, then he did not care at this point. She would not be able to run from him here, and Vodka was behind her anyway. The other people were not stampeding, either. Perhaps they realized the idiocy of the motion. Or maybe they were too dazed to do otherwise. Whatever the case, Gin was glad of it.

"There was a woman trapped on this floor," Sherry remarked as they approached the landing. With narrowed eyes, she looked toward the stairwell door. It was open, hanging half off its hinges. Obviously one of the bombs had been planted on this floor. Instinctively she placed a hand over her nose and mouth as she squinted, trying to see through the thick clouds of smoke. The crackling of a fire could be clearly heard to the side of the yawning doorway, and as she leaned in slightly to look, some of the embers leapt out at her. She jumped back, at the same moment Gin's strong hand came down on her shoulder.

He half-turned her around, his viselike grip sending a chill down her spine. "There were people helping her," he said.

She looked up into his green eyes. They were the same as his voice, unwavering and filled with a cold steel. He had given her a certain semblance of freedom, but she could tell from his reaction now that if she tried to follow through with an idea of lending assistance to that unknown woman, that liberty would end. But that did not mean she would accept it. She had never gone along with Gin's dominant personality, and he both hated and loved that about her.

"They might need someone who has medical knowledge," she answered. "Even if they've got her free, they might not know what should be done to keep her injuries from getting worse."

Gin clenched his fist at his side. Why did she have to pick now to be stubborn? Judging from the appearance of the floor they were at, it would probably only get worse the further down they went. They could not take time out to do other things. If she went into the burning inferno they were looking at, there was not a guarantee that she would even make it back out again. He had just found her and had her with him. He was not about to give her up because she wanted to get involved in some foolhardy and dangerous rescue mission. He knew it was selfish, but he wondered if anyone would really blame him for not wanting to take such a risk of losing her, especially under the circumstances. Not that he wanted someone to understand what he was feeling right now.

"We need to get out now!" he snapped, grabbing her other shoulder as well. It was also not lost on him that her behavior was different. In the past, she would have rationalized that the woman was being helped satisfactorily, and leave it at that. He made a mental note to question her about this once they were safely away from here.

"Maybe they even already got her out," Vodka spoke up hesitantly.

"It's possible, but not likely, considering the explosion that came right then," Sherry replied. She looked into the room thoughtfully. She did not hear any voices now. Maybe, if there was another way off the floor, they had taken it. And then there was also the possibility that the ceiling had caved in and they were buried underneath it, in which case it was not likely that any of them would still be alive. And while she did want to give assistance if she could, she did not plan to be reckless.

Vodka tensed as he felt people brushing past him to go down the stairs. He stepped closer to Gin, wishing that they could follow suit and just leave. It did not seem like anything would be accomplished by staying here, gazing into those angry flames. He looked to his partner.

Gin could feel Vodka watching him, but he did not bother to turn around. He had half a mind to scoop Sherry into his arms, whether she liked it or not, and hasten down the rest of the staircases to the ground floor---if they still had access to the other levels. It was highly possible that the bombs had destroyed other parts of the stairwell, or at the very least, they might have caused large amounts of debris to be dumped right where they would need to walk. But in any case, the longer they waited, the more likely it would be that they would not be able to get out.

Sherry turned suddenly, giving a thoughtful nod. "Let's go," she said, not giving any explanation for her actions. But right now, Gin did not care.

He saw the fire flash a split second before it roared toward the opening, directly at them. Without warning he grabbed Sherry and clutched her against his chest, barely thinking about his own actions as he leaped out of the way. The most important thing was to avoid the flames. Hopefully Vodka had been quick enough to follow suit.

He cursed when he stayed airborne for longer than he should have. The landing was not large enough to stay on while dodging the angry fire, and he found himself painfully hitting the stairs. Over and over he tumbled, keeping his deathgrip on Sherry's warm body until he came to a halt at the next floor, slamming onto it on his back.

For the second time in the last few minutes, he lay where he was as he gathered his bearings. Pain was shooting through all parts of his body from the spill, and it was obvious that he would be badly bruised when this was over. Hopefully nothing worse than that.

He forced himself into a sitting position, and as Sherry tried to move with him, she found herself sitting on his lap. They did not have time to wait while the agony rushed throughout his body. It could be a while before it would settle down, and Gin had trained himself to deal with pain. They had to leave.

"Now are you satisfied?" he growled angrily as he looked into Sherry's shaken eyes. "We have to get out of here."

She nodded weakly, pushing herself away from him as she carefully rose. She could not keep the bite out of her tone as she responded. "Ironic, isn't it, that we wouldn't be in this situation if you hadn't brought me here." Now she was not saying it because she wanted to know why Gin had taken her. Now she was simply angry over the situation, and her feelings, and she was taking it out on him. If not for him, she would not have to be so bewildered over what she thought of him. She could have gone on, denying her love and continuing to hate and fear him. Now she was torn.

Gin's expression twisted in fury. It was not as if he had known about Cognac's plans. He still wondered if this was the other's way of trying to eliminate them, but while it was possible that Cognac was blowing up the hotel so that no one would know his target, it seemed likely that there was another reason for this---perhaps because of information on the computers, as he had previously thought.

"I saved your life," he hissed as he got up as well.

"For what reason?" she retorted. "I would rather be dead than to be part of some twisted plan of yours. And anyway, it's possible that we'll all die in here."

Gin was about to retort when his hat was suddenly thrust at him. He frowned, glaring at it. He must have lost it on the way down, after he had jumped. He grabbed it, turning to look at the one who had proffered it.

The shorter man looked back nervously, shifting under his partner's piercing gaze. "We'd better go," he said uncomfortably. He had seen that Gin and Sherry had started to become involved in an argument, one that could have gone on for some time if he had let it continue. If they could just find their way out, then the former lovers would have plenty of time to talk, or argue. But now, as the building was falling apart around them, was not a good time.

Gin did not answer. He continued to regard Vodka with a cold gaze as he placed the now-battered fedora on his head. Then he swept past, heading for the next set of steps. He would ignore the fact that it hurt to walk. He would force himself to go on anyway. Behind him, he could hear Sherry and Vodka falling into place again.

* * *

It seemed amazing that the next few floors were passed without incident. The amount of debris that they found had definitely increased, and on the sixth level smoke had poured from under the door and flames had been heard roaring behind it. Gin supposed that it should not have surprised him that they ended up running into another obstacle. This one, however, was not like the others. This was a living obstruction.

He cursed as they approached the landing of the fifth level. People had gathered in a circle, and they were spread the entire length of the small space. There was not any way to get past them without pushing into the throng. And so Gin grabbed the shoulders of the two people nearest him, forcing them away from each other so that he could squeeze through between them.

Instead of being upset by this interruption, as he would have expected, they looked at him worriedly. "Are you trained in the medical field?" asked the one, taking in his icy presence and dark eyes. Ordinarily he was not the sort of person they would appeal to at all, but right now they were desperate.

"I am," Sherry announced before Gin could have the chance to brush them off, as she imagined he would have done. She also made her way through the people, and stopped to survey the situation when she was standing beside Gin. Vodka was quickly following, but she paid little attention to him.

Her eyes narrowed darkly when she saw that the others had crowded around the small boy from earlier. Now he was laying on the cold marble, crumpled on his side. His arms were out in front of him, as if he had tried to brace himself for a fall. Blood had pooled around his head, matting down his hair, and his skin was chalk white. He gave no indication of movement, and his closed eyes added to the morbid picture.

Immediately Sherry went forward, kneeling down beside the silent form. "What happened here?" she demanded, though she could make a good guess.

One of the other men in the circle spoke. "That last explosion really shook things up on this floor," he said quietly, twisting his soft hat about in his trembling hands. "The boy was just starting to run down these steps at the time, and . . ." He shook his head. "He lost his balance and fell." Even though he was talking to the chemist, his eyes never left the child's body, and when Sherry glanced up, she could see the especially haunted look in those eyes. It was possible that he was just understandably sensitive in cases like this, but she had to suspect that he knew this boy and was even close to him---perhaps the father or an uncle. But that was unimportant.

Vodka stayed close to Gin, watching uneasily as Sherry bent down to check for signs of life. He remembered that the boy had reminded him of Gin, when they had seen him earlier. Gin had been a terror as a child, full of life and mischief and energy. He probably could have easily ended up laying motionless, the victim of the same sort of calamity. Vodka shuddered, looking away.

Seeing injured children in general bothered him, even though as a general rule he considered the little ones to be brats. He had been horrified and indignant when Ayumi Yoshida had been used against Gin, and he knew Gin had been outraged. Usually the blonde did not give any indication of how he felt, as he was doing right now by standing silently with crossed arms while Sherry carefully turned the boy onto his back and began performing artificial respiration. Vodka had started to wonder of late if Gin honestly did not care about such things, or if he wanted to appear indifferent because he did not want to care---even if it did indeed bother him. Vodka would never ask, and Gin would never tell. It was an unspoken agreement between them on quite a few subjects.

He started back to the present when a weak gasp and a cough interrupted his thoughts. When he turned his attention back to the child, he saw the boy was trying to raise up on an elbow, drinking in the polluted and smoke-filled air. His eyes were wide open, as if he could not get enough oxygen to satisfy his needs and was in a panic because of it. Sherry was leaning back, simply observing, and when the man who had been so distraught came over, she moved further out of the way.

"Thank you," he was saying again and again, looking from the child to the woman. "Thank you!"

Sherry shook her head slowly. "Do you have a clean cloth?" she asked.

He blinked in surprise and confusion, but searched through his pockets until he found a white handkerchief. "Here," he said as he presented it to her.

She took it, folding it up in a neat rectangle once, then twice, and leaned over the boy again. He seemed frightened now, and she spoke quietly to him as she gently pressed the cloth over the profusely bleeding head wound. Vodka could not catch her words, and judging from Gin's bored expression, he either could not or else he did not find it very interesting. But whatever she said, it seemed to calm the child, and he lay back down while gazing up at her in apparent awe.

Sherry looked back to the man. "Under normal circumstances, the victim of a head injury should not be moved until the proper medical authorities arrive," she remarked, "but we don't have that option. Will you be able to gently carry him down the rest of the way?" As she spoke, she held the cloth in place with one hand while taking hold of the sleeve of her nightgown with the other. She ripped it with ease, then took a long strip and wound it around the boy's head, tying it so that it would keep the dressing secure until something professional could be applied.

The man nodded shakily, and bending down, he reached for the small body. The boy seemed to take notice of him for the first time, and a bright smile came over his features as he was lifted up. His mouth opened as he apparently tried to form words, but could not manage it. Instead he settled for placing his arms around the other's neck.

Sherry slowly straightened up, watching them with what looked like a wistful smile across her features. She turned, heading for the next flight of stairs, but froze at the man's new words.

"You're an angel sent to us," he declared earnestly, as he allowed the two men with her to go past.

She frowned deeply. An angel? No, she was the furthest thing from an angel. She had often considered herself a demon. But she could not help recalling something Kudo had said to her long ago.

_"Even a demon can become an angel."_

She smirked slightly. She still did not know if that was true. It was a nice thought, at any rate, and he had seemed to believe it. She would like to believe it as well.

"No," she spoke as she began to descend the stairs. "I'm not an angel. I'm . . ." She paused, mulling over the right choice of words. "I'm just a demon who yearns to become an angel, someday."

* * *

The night air was even more chill than she had remembered. But then again, she had been cozy and warm in a hotel room for several hours, and then had been in danger of being burned alive. It was understandable to have gotten used to the heat. As she finally stumbled through the door into the welcome parking garage, the stinging wind struck her harshly across her face. She shivered subconsciously, wishing she had something to keep her warm. The nightgown did not offer much protection at all, and being white, it did not absorb warmth. Not to mention that now one of the sleeves was half gone.

She narrowed her eyes as she took another step forward. She would not show that she was cold. She would make it back to the car fine, if her bare feet did not freeze along the way. The concrete felt icy, and suddenly she found that her greatest desire would be to have a long, hot shower---for more reasons than one. She surely could not look very presentable, after the experience she had just come through. She probably looked as bad, or worse, than she felt.

The feel of something thick and warm being laid over her shoulders caused her to start back to the present. She looked down at the familiar black cloth, now torn in places and still covered by a thin layer of plaster. A quiet smirk came over her features as she remembered Gin's earlier words about her clothes being bloodstained and unwearable.

"This coat is bloodstained too," she murmured. "Figuratively."

Gin only grunted.

* * *

A lone figure watched from a secluded and well-hidden point as the frazzled trio made their way across the parking garage to where the black Porsche was still waiting for them. He had seen the car there when he had first come out of the building, and had decided to wait and see if the famed agent Gin made it out safely. He was not surprised to see the blonde's stout partner with him, but the sight of the girl was definitely something he had not expected. She should not be there. If she was with Gin at all, it should be as a corpse. But she was very much alive, and apparently Gin had just given her his coat to wear against the cold. He showed no indication of malice or hostility, or that he would shoot her dead, as he was ordered to.

The shadow smirked to himself as he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. Oh, this was very interesting indeed. He placed the phone to his ear, watching as Gin reached the car first and unlocked it. The girl was climbing into the back, and Vodka was walking around to the passenger side. Gin was using a hand to brush any remaining plaster and wood splinters out of his hair before sliding into the driver's seat. Obviously they were all leaving together.

There was a click on the phone, followed by a familiar voice in greeting. The spy smirked more, leaning on his own car as he spoke into the receiver.

"Agent Vermouth? Yes, this is Cognac. My mission's been completed without a hitch. Oh, and just an interesting tidbit I picked up---it seems that Gin is officially a traitor to the Black Organization."


End file.
